


Complications

by thefairyprincev (QueenOfThePolarBears)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Cisswap, F/F, F/M, Genderswap, Internalized Misogyny, Internalized Transphobia, Misgendering, Misogyny, Multi, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, Universe Alteration, Unplanned Pregnancy, grown ups with even more issues, kids with issues, look it really does have a happy ending, more like Accidental Pregnancy, so much drama, this is going to have a happy ending I swear, this is starting to turn into the neverending story I have to keep adding parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfThePolarBears/pseuds/thefairyprincev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Madara is a girl. And so is Hashirama.<br/>"But... Hashirama is a <i>boy's</i> name..."<br/>"It- It's complicated."<br/>And it is, it really is. And then it just gets worse.</p><p>A story about the lives of female Madara and transgirl Hashirama told in six parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be working on Lilies and Lionesses. Or better yet, my Bartimaeus Hogwarts AU. Instead, I've spent the last week working on this.  
> The original premise of this fic was given to me by Angie a few weeks ago. I hope you all enjoy it!!!

**Started 05/18/2015  
**

* * *

Part I  
  


The boy she met by the river a few days ago is officially the biggest weirdo that Madara has ever met, and she really hopes that she will never meet anyone as weird as he is ever again. (He’s funny though, and if his hair and clothes weren’t so lame, he could almost be cute, but she wasn’t about to say something like that out loud. She doesn’t want anyone to think that she’s turning into a _girl_ after all.)

She meets him again a few days later, and he is upset, incredibly so. So she decides to ask what’s wrong, and it takes a while to get him to talk, and once she has, she can’t hold back the wince because yeah, okay, a brother dying is more than enough reason to be upset. She sits down beside him, their shoulders bumping as she talks about her own brothers, three of whom have long left this world already. His hand lands on hers, and squeezes gently. Madara allows it for a moment, before she shoots up, a blush covering her face as she yanks her hand away, standing up again. She grabs a rock as she goes, tossing it up and down a few times as she walks up to the river’s edge, fighting back her blush.

Madara skips the rock across the river as she talks, telling the other about how she wishes for peace, for no more children to be killed, but how she doesn’t believe it is possible. There is too much hatred, too many old grudges that the old generations cling to and pass on.

“But every time I come here,” she says, watching the rock bounce across the water, “I find myself hoping that someone will find a way anyways.” She turns and walks away, aware of his eyes burning holes into her back and she lets a quick smile cross her face, stretching the trio of scars that adorn it, before it settles back into her normal blank look as she returns home.

They begin meeting up, and Madara realizes that Hashirama thinks she is also a boy. She does nothing to correct this assumption, because it is just safer that way. They might be friends, but he is still a boy, and she is a girl, and she has heard terrible terrible stories from her cousins and aunts about what happens to girls from other clans who let their women fight. (She doesn’t go a week without hearing one of these stories, as everyone tries to keep her from continuing to fight, and she ignores them. She will not let them cow her into submission because she is female.)

They keep meeting up, and they spar, and they talk, and they spar some more, sharing ideas, and stories, and dreams. Madara decides that she likes this weird boy who shares her dream for peace, even though he’s still weird, with a stupid haircut and no fashion sense. She sets her water canteen down on the rock they are sitting on and stands up with a blunt; “I have to pee,” and she jumps down off the rock, walking into the forest.

She is finishing up when she feels someone watching her from behind, and she turns around, yanking her pants up with a high pitched yelp, only to see Hashirama looking like he’s stifling laughter. She glares, cheeks burning as he snorts.

“You really can’t-” he begins to say but she cuts him off.

“Shut up! Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to watch a girl pee! You pervert!” she shrieks and Hashirama falls silent, before pouting at her.

“I am not a pervert!” he protests and Madara scowls, arms crossing.

“Yes you are!”

“Am not!”

“How are you not a pervert?” she asks, and Hashirama sticks his tongue out at her.

“Cause I’m a girl too!” he declares, before slapping a hand over his-her mouth and looking a bit shocked at what he- no, she, just said, as if it had come out by accident, and Madara freezes, blinking a few times as her mind whirls. Things aren’t adding up properly, and she frowns at her friend, tilting her head to side a bit as the other looks at her nervously.

“But... Hashirama is a boy’s name,” she says quietly, and Hashirama full-out flinches. Madara bites her lip, and takes a hesitant step forwards, not sure what’s going on here anymore. She watches as her friend hunches in on him- herself, hands grasping at hi- her upper arms.

“It- It’s complicated,” Hashirama finally mutters after minutes pass by in silence, and Madara hasn’t seen her friend look this upset since Hashirama told her of the death of hi- _her_ brother, so she takes another step forwards, and slowly wraps an arm around Hashirama’s waist, taking the other’s elbow and slowly leading them back to the rock they had been sitting on previously.

“Come on then, let’s go sit down and you can tell me about it,” she says, because she honestly wants to know now, her curiosity has flared up, and Izuna has always told her that her curiosity will be the death of her, and she really can’t deny that. And there’s also the fact that Hashirama is her friend, and she doesn’t want to lose the friendship they had built over something so dumb as their genders. They sit down again, and Hashirama is still hunched over and it just looks so _wrong_ for the other that Madara finds herself frowning in concern again and scooting closer to her friend.

“So,” she begins lightly, “you’re a girl too then?” Idly she wonders if Hashirama hates being a girl too, or if her parents disliked that they had a girl, which is how she ended up with a boy’s name. Hashirama shuffles until she’s hugging her knees.

“I am. Or, at least I feel like I am,” Hashirama mutters, and Madara frowns, her head tipping to the side again. Hashirama glances up at the other girl and bites her lip at the look of confusion.

“It’s kind of complicated,” she mutters, and Madara’s eyebrow rises and Hashirama wonders how her friend manages to convey so many words without actually speaking. She sighs.

“I _am_ a girl, but... I- I don’t have _girl_ parts, and it just... It feels wrong having the parts that I do, and I don’t want them, I always wanted to join in my younger cousins kunoichi lessons instead of a lot of the training that I’ve done, and I was always getting into my mother’s face paints, and her hairpins, and I mean, I just,” she buries her face in her hands and tries her hardest not to cry, not wanting to face her friend. The only other one that knew about Hashirama wanting nothing more than have been born a girl had been Itama (although she’s fairly certain that Tobirama suspects it, considering he had told her not too long ago that she should consider growing out her hair; he always knows when something’s up) but Itama is dead now, so no one else has known. And now, now Madara knows, and Madara is an actual girl, and oh god, what if she hates her? What if she thinks she’s crazy? What if she wants to stop being friends? What if she thinks she’s a freak? What if-

“So you weren’t actually born a girl then?” Madara asks slowly, and Hashirama nods, keeping her face buried in her hands as she takes a few deep breaths, trying not to let the panic overtake her.

“But you... feel like you’re a girl, and, and not a boy?” Madara is still speaking slowly and a soft hiccup escapes Hashirama and Madara feels bad about making the bo- gir- Hashirama cry, so she scoots closer and wraps an arm around the other’s shoulders, tugging Hashirama against her chest.

“Stop crying,” she mutters. She has always hated seeing others cry, especially other kids her age or younger, it tended to make her want to cry as well, and Madara wasn't supposed to cry. Hashirama hiccups again instead and lets a few sniffles loose and Madara sighs, hugging the other like she does Izuna when her baby brother has a nightmare, holding Hashirama close and running a hand through the brunette’s hair. She decides that it doesn’t matter to her if Hashirama is a boy or a girl, because Hashirama is still _Hashirama._

“Why?” she asks suddenly, breaking the silence and looking down at the other twelve year old, frowning in confusion.

“Why what?” Hashirama’s voice is small as she looks up at Madara, and Madara wants to hit something at the traces of fear that are in her friend’s eyes, because Hashirama should not be afraid of her, because she lo- she stops that train of thought before it can any further.

“Why do you _want_ to be a girl? It sucks. We’re never taken seriously, we’re not supposed to fight, we have to be _ladylike_ , and all we’re good for is having babies,” she says bluntly, and Hashirama blinks up at her.

“But girls are _wonderful_ ,” she almost breathes out, sitting up a bit straighter, “Girls are beautiful, and amazing, and so _strong_ Madara. You have to be strong in order to bring new life into this world. Women can be so much stronger than men, but nobody ever realizes that, because it’s a much quieter strength, more subtle. Women are smarter too, to let the men be idiots and fight over everything, while they’re the ones that come up with the best solutions, my mother and aunts always had the best ideas, and are so nice. And girls can fight and be ladylike, I’ve seen it, just because your family sees girls as one thing Madara, doesn’t mean that they all do.”

Madara scowls, “I still don’t see why you’d want to be a girl. Boys are taken seriously, they don’t get told to shut up and sit down, and I bet that your family actually listens to you because you were born a boy.”

“I don’t really know why I want to be a girl, I just do, okay?” Hashirama snaps, and Madara winces a little, and looks apologetic, realizing that she must have struck a nerve.

“Sorry,” the other girl mutters, and Hashirama sighs, letting her forehead drop onto Madara’s shoulder. Madara looks down at the girl who is now pretty much sitting in her lap, arms somehow having become wrapped around Madara’s neck, and she cautiously lifts her own arms to hug Hashirama gently.

“You’re the only one that knows that I’m a girl,” Hashirama’s voice is muffled, and Madara is startled at the declaration.

“Really?” She asks, and she can’t help but feel a little happy that Hashirama trusts her with such an obviously sensitive secret. (Madara can think of how her own family would react if she had been born a boy who wanted to be a girl, and she wonders if Hashirama’s clan would deem it treason like her own probably would, or if they’d find some other reason to execute the girl for being different in such a way. Idly, she wonders if Hashirama’s clan burns people alive for such things, or if they have a different way of doing things.) She feels Hashirama nod against her shoulder.

“My younger brother Itama knew, but...” she trails off, and Madara can feel herself hug the other girl tighter at the unspoken implication that Itama is one of Hashirama’s deceased brothers. They stay like that for a while longer, before the sun begins to set and they have to separate to go their own ways home. Hashirama squeezes her tighter and presses a kiss to her scarred cheek before she leaves, shooting Madara a small, so very soft, smile. Madara, for her part, remains frozen for about ten minutes longer, hand pressed to her cheek, which have flared a bright pink. She shakes her head, and turns to head home herself, wondering what Izuna got up to that day.  


***  


They continue to meet up. To spar and to talk. Hashirama is even more open now, grinning widely almost all the time now, as her arms wave around wildly when she talks. Madara laughs at the other girl’s antics, but goes along with them. There’s just something about Hashirama that draws her in, and Madara can’t deny that yeah, okay, so she might have a crush on Hashirama, but whatever.

They plan out their village, at the base of the cliff. Plot out how everything will work, decide to build an academy so everyone, boy or girl, can learn the shinobi arts. They agree that there should be a minimum age limit, so no child of four ends up on the battlefield like they both did. Hashirama giggles and latches onto Madara in a tight hug, and Madara laughs, and hugs the other girl back, both are giddy with the prospects of a peaceful future. Both want nothing more than that.

And then everything comes crashing down before it can really begin.

 

Hashirama can’t really be too upset with Tobirama for following her, because she knows that he worries about her, and she thinks back, and yeah, she has been sneaking off a lot lately to go and see Madara, and she hasn’t exactly been all that subtle about it, but she just can’t help it. It has been just too nice to have a friend who knows her secret and just, accepts it as easily as Madara has. The fact that she has developed quite the crush on the other girl has absolutely nothing to do with it of course.

But Madara is an Uchiha, and suddenly her feelings towards her own gender made so much sense to Hashirama, and she can practically feel her heart breaking. Madara is an Uchiha and Hashirama is a Senju, and she is almost certain that she can hear the gods laughing at them now.

And then her father tells her that she has to betray her friend, and potentially kill her and Hashirama freezes.

She spends the night carving the rock Madara had skipped to her just that afternoon, when everything had still been sunny and bright, and they had had their entire futures open ahead of them. Hashirama is unaware that Madara is doing the exact same thing, similar thoughts running through her head.

“From now on, we’ll skip rocks as a greeting,” Madara says when they meet at the river the next day. There is something off in her voice, and Hashirama bites her lip, but nods, and digs out her rock. Two stones are skipped, bouncing across the river to be caught in the opposite hands. Hashirama can feel her eyes widen as she looks down at the rock in her grip.

“You know, I just remembered that I had an errand to run today, I gotta go,” Madara calls out, looking up from the rock Hashirama threw. The brunette gives an uneasy grin.

“Alright then, you’d better get going, I’ll see you later,” she calls out in response, trying to hide the weakness in her voice. They both turn to leave, make it to the tree lines, and then, then their fathers and brothers are standing on the river, weapons drawn as they stare each other down. Both girls turn back around, and their eyes meet briefly, and both are full of fear at what may happen.

Tajima and Butsuma exchange words, and Izuna and Tobirama exchange insults. Madara and Hashirama remain frozen, neither wanting to move, but knowing that they will have to. And then their brothers are moving, swords clashing, and then there are two knives, flying through the air at them. Once more rocks are thrown, and neither Hashirama nor Madara are frozen any longer.

They land on the river, in front of their respective brothers.

“Even if it’s you... If you so much as harm one hair on my little brother’s head, Hashirama...” Madara growls, and glares. Her eyes are beginning to sting as she realizes what she must do. They cannot go on like this, if they do, not only will Izuna likely get hurt, so will Hashirama and her brother, and Madara does not want that to happen, not today, not to Hashirama, who she still cares for, Senju or not. But she knows that Hashirama will never let her go, not easily, so she must be the one to break their friendship. Madara must be the one to push Hashirama away, and learn to hate her, because it is expected of her, and she knows that Hashirama is not capable of doing it. To protect herself, to protect Hashirama and her secret, to protect her brother, Madara will do what she must, and she will live with the consequences of her actions forever. She straightens from her crouch.

“All that talk...” she mutters, just loud enough to be heard, “All that talk, of building a village... Looks like it was nothing more than wishful thinking,” she lifts her head, a bitter smile painted on her lips as she looks at Hashirama, watching the pain in the other’s eyes as she speaks.

“Madara...” Hashirama’s voice is hoarse, “you don’t really feel that...”

“For what it’s worth,” it is taking all of her self-control to keep her own voice steady as she speaks, “it may have been fleeting, but I really did have a good time, Hashirama...” There is silence as Hashirama bites her lip and her hand twitches slightly, as if to reach out and grab hold of Madara’s sleeve.

“Three on three... Ready to get your hands dirty, Madara?” her father is speaking, but all Madara can focus on is the look of pain that has taken over Hashirama’s face.

“No,” she says after a brief pause, “Hashirama’s still stronger than me. It would be pointless for us to fight,” she mutters, and she can feel the eyes of her brother and father on her back now.

“No way, he’s stronger than you, aneki?” Izuna asks in disbelief, because according to him, no one is capable of beating his older sister. Madara doesn’t have to turn around to know that her father is wearing a calculating look as he examines the other twelve year old.

“Interesting... I didn’t expect the Senju prodigy to actually be all that he’s cracked up to be... We’re falling back then,” Tajima’s voice is stern and Madara turns her back on Hashirama.

“Until next time then,” her voice is quiet, so only her friend can hear it, and she hears Hashirama step forwards.

“Madara! You don’t really believe that it was all just wishful thinking, do you? I know that you don’t, that you can’t! Not after all of that brainstorming, and coming up with our ideas! We’d finally...” Hashirama trails off. Madara stops in her tracks, hands clenching into fists.

“Trust me,” she mutters, “at the end of the day, I wish things could be different,” her voice is thick and with a start Madara realizes that she is almost on the verge of tears. This is harder than she thought it would be, and she bites her lip, hard. “But... at the end of the day, you’re still a Senju, and I am an Uchiha. My brother's blood is on the hands of the Senju. There won’t be any blood shed today, but the next time we meet...” her eyes are burning now, and she keeps her face tilted down, looking at her clenched fist as she cuts the ties to her friend, and she can feel the tell-tale rush of chakra to her eyes, and another bitter smile adorns her face.

“The next time we meet, Hashirama Senju, we will be enemies on the field of battle,” she tilts her face up to the sky, before turning to toss a red-eyed glare at the other, “and when that time comes, you will address me as Madara Uchiha.”

“Aneki,” she can hear Izuna gasp in surprise, “Your eyes-!” Her father is wearing a smug smirk.

“At least today wasn’t a complete waste,” he says, and Madara thinks she kind of wants to hit him, but the awe on her little brother’s face softens her anger.

“The Sharingan ...” she hears Hashirama’s father say quietly and she turns back to her own father, walking away from Hashirama, and all of the plans that they had made, her heart heavy in her chest.

That night, Madara promises to herself that she will never let anyone that close to her ever again. The pain is not worth it, she thinks as she looks up at the waning moon, knees hugged to her chest as she sits in a tree. So she hardens her heart, and refuses to show any emotion, because it is nothing but weakness, she has learned.

Hashirama throws stones into the river, not able to skip them without wanting to cry, as she promises to herself that she will somehow find a way to fix things between her and Madara as she stares at the reflection of the moon in the water. It hurts too much to not have Madara by her side, she realizes, constantly turning to make some comment to the friend who is no longer there in the passing weeks.

***

Time passes, and both Madara and Hashirama grow, and flourish.

 

Madara stays skinny, too much so, with whipcord muscles and just the barest hint of breasts and no hips to speak of. Her clan generally sees her as a disappointment, but her reputation only grows more and more vicious as she gets older. _She-demon_ , they whisper as she passes, black hair swirling behind her; _too wild, too unwomanly, such a disappointment_ , they mutter behind her back, and she turns to grin at them, teeth bared and eyes flashing red. She revels in the names they call her, shooting bloodthirsty grins at opponents and Clan Elders alike. She might be a woman, but it is well known that she has no qualms about tearing somebody’s jugular out with her teeth. She has done it before and will do it again.

Hashirama, in contrast, grows up and out, as strong and revered as the oaks she is able to grow with her mokuton. Except Hashirama is not a she, but a he, and is taller than most other men easily by the age of seventeen, his shoulders broad and voice deep. The picture of a perfect shinobi, and so obviously male that sometimes Hashirama stares at her reflection and cries when no one is around to hear her. Even in Madara’s clan there is talk about how handsome the Senju is, and how strong he is, and how he has done his clan proud. It is only Madara that remembers the child Hashirama was, with that terrible haircut, and no fashion sense, and that desperate confession that he is actually a girl, despite what his appearance might say.

They meet on the battlefield often.

At fourteen Madara cuts a long gash across Hashirama’s chest. In retaliation a vine thick with thorns wraps around her arm and she is forced to yank it out, blood gushing from the puncture wounds.

At fifteen Hashirama sends Madara flying, and she can feel half of her ribs break as she lands, but she rolls, and rises to a crouch, her hands flying through signs as she spits fire at him, setting his plants and arm on fire.

At sixteen Madara gains the Mangekyo Sharingan and it is with a feral grin that she unleashes her Amaterasu on the battlefield, and wraps herself in the base of her Susano’o, watching as black flames consume the ground. Hashirama is forced to drag his brother out of the way as a large water dragon fails to put out the fire and the look he shoots Madara makes her heart twist in her chest, but she is quick to stomp it down.

At seventeen, they become the Heads of their respective clans with the deaths of their fathers. The latest war between Senju and Uchiha comes to a standstill with these deaths. Hashirama meets Madara in the centre of a bare strip of land. Their brothers are at their sides. Hashirama is holding an oversized scroll, and Madara’s gloved hand grips her gunbai handle tightly. Tense words are exchanged between the new Heads and a temporary ceasefire is settled before both turn away from each other.

At eighteen, they do not see each other.

At nineteen Hashirama hears rumors that Madara is being courted by several men, some from Madara’s own clan, some from clans allied with the Uchiha. Hashirama spills ink all over several important documents and gets drunk that night. She wakes in the bed of a pretty girl from the nearby village and doesn't know what to say.

At nineteen Madara hears that the Senju are planning on marrying Hashirama to an Uzumaki princess. Madara gets her arm and several ribs broken in a battle as her vision blurs and red drips down her face and she snarls at anyone who even talks to her.

At twenty, they meet again. War is once more on the horizon. It is late January, and neither of their brother’s are quite seventeen yet, but close enough. Hashirama is at least eight inches taller than Madara now, practically twice her size, but the Uchiha is quick, and Hashirama almost sighs in relief as there is no sign that any of the plans of those courting Madara went anywhere. Madara however, knows that the plans of the Senju to betroth Hashirama to an Uzumaki have gone somewhere, and that there is likely to be a contract signed soon. She doesn't know why that fact manages to bother her as much as it does, so she steadily ignores it, just as she has ignored all of her feelings regarding anyone but her brother since she was twelve. Life is easier if she simply does not care.

Their swords clang and clash, and Madara grits her teeth as she presses up with hers, Hashirama bearing down on her heavily. Both are panting, and dripping sweat. And then Madara’s hand twitches, and she is whirling around, eyes blazing red with her Mangekyo as she steps out of Hashirama’s range, staring at something across the field. Hashirama looks to where she is, and sees their brothers, locked in battle. And then Madara’s brother is obscured by smoke.

“Izuna,” she breathes out, almost like she can tell what is meant to happen and she takes a step forwards, chakra focusing on one point. Hashirama blinks, and Madara is gone, and then Hashirama is running across the field as well as the smoke clears, trying to reach the other woman.

Madara had had a bad feeling all day, and she had almost been tempted to skip out on the battle that had broken out in between the Uchiha and Senju territories, but Izuna had already been there, and the reports coming in had said that both Hashirama and Tobirama where there, so she had had to go. Her instincts prove right though, as a chill runs down her spine while her sword is locked hilt to hilt with Hashirama’s. She knows that something bad is going to happen, and it is going to happen to her precious baby brother, so she is quick to pull away from the Senju in front of her, spinning around until she can find Izuna, eyes widening as she sees that he is enshrouded with smoke, with Tobirama dashing forwards, sword poised to strike. Madara doesn’t think, she just acts. It is only after the shunshin is performed and she has pushed Izuna away that she looks down at the blade that has become embedded in her side, snaking past her armor to dig deeply into her body, coming out through her back. The slash meant for her brother had become a stab taken by her. Everything seems to freeze in that instant.

“Oh,” she murmurs, blinking as she locks eyes with the white-haired Senju, who is staring at her in shock, hands falling slack from his weapon. Her hand lands on the edge of the sword that is sticking through her, and then she gives a small cough and blood sputters up and out of her mouth, and everything is moving again. Madara stumbles forwards, and then falls backwards, not able to feel her legs as she slumps into Izuna’s arms and her eyes fade from red back to black, the sword being dragged down through her abdomen by gravity, tearing through flesh and organs as it falls.

“Oh,” she repeats as she vaguely hears her brother screaming her name, and then Hashirama is there too, shouting for her, telling her to hold on, to not close her eyes. She has to squint to see Hashirama leaning over her, brown eyes wide in fear and concern and panic and he’s- no, she, Madara remembers idly as her mind drifts, she’s saying something, doing something, and Madara can hear Izuna desperately begging her to do something as he falls to the ground, with her still half in his lap. Hashirama’s hands are green, she can barely see them past the brown hair that is falling everywhere. Shakily, Madara raises an arm to grab hold of some of that hair, and she tugs on it gently.

“Glad you grew it out, looks pretty on you,” she gurgles out as more blood bubbles past her lips and she can just hear Izuna saying, “If you don’t save my sister Senju, I will not rest until you and your entire clan is dead,” and Hashirama smiles at her softly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek, one blood stained thumb tracing a smear across her cheek.

“Your hair looks pretty on you too, now stay with me, okay Madara? You have to stay awake and stay with me, and then we can settle everything once and for all, figure out an alliance, and no one else will have to die, and you can insult my clothes like you used to,” she says softly, voice deep and soothing and it is a struggle for Madara to even keep her eyes open now.

“ ‘m so tired Hashi...” she murmurs, and watches as the taller frowns down at her.

“You can sleep when I tell you that you can, okay?”

“Always so bossy... ‘member how you always used to cheat when we raced up the cliff?” Madara’s voice sounds funny to her ears, and she can hear a ringing sound as her vision blurs more and more.

“Stay with me Madara and I’ll let you win the next race,” Hashirama’s voice has a hint of desperation in it and Madara wonders why. She looks so sad and worried and Madara tugs on her hair again, before her arm falls to her side.

“ ‘Kay,” she murmurs, and more blood falls from her mouth as her eyes close and the ringing overtakes her. She does not hear anything else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Transgirl!Hashi is a thing now (at least to me it is) and I kind of love her. And everybody should already know about my love for female Madara.  
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it! I'll have the next part up in a few days probably.  
> Thanks for reading!!! <3


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara wakes up. The seeds for the future are planted.

Part II

* * *

There is a dense fog everywhere, and Madara struggles to make her way through it. It feels like she is swimming through mud as she tries to move anything, to open her eyes, to grab hold of something. Faintly, she can hear voices talking.

“ -ved her life.”

“Discuss when she wakes up-”

“ -solutely not!”

“Not up to you-!”

“ _ If _ she wakes-” 

“Alliance with-”

She drifts off into the fog again.

 

She is unaware of how long it has been when she nears the surface of the never-ending fog again, but the voices are back now, both softer and louder than they had been before. She listens.

“Causing blindness-”

“-didn’t you tell anyone?”

“-cause-”

“-ers too?”

She knows those voices, she thinks. She knows the speakers. She can’t remember who they are though, all she can think of is dark hair and red eyes, and brown hair and warm eyes. She can smell damp earth and burning wood. Everything falls silent again as the fog swallows her once more.

And then, Madara shoots up on the cot she has been placed on, eyes flying wide as she gasps for air, looking around frantically. She recognizes the Uchiha clan infirmary with ease. The colours of the Uchiha crest on the wall being a dead giveaway. Her chest heaves as she looks at the coloured blurs around her as her vision shifts and settles to something she can mostly see with. She turns to face her aunt Akemi as she comes rushing into the room. The older woman freezes at the sight of Madara awake and sitting up, before she lets out a small cry of joy.

“Madara!” she exclaims and is quick to rush forwards and give the young woman a hug, before pulling away and briskly looking over her, talking quickly. 

“-probably hungry, and need something to drink. We really need to get you up off that bed, although hopefully your muscles haven’t atrophied that badly, since it’s only been about a week, oh it is so good to see you awake again Madara-sama,” Akemi is speaking and Madara looks at the woman who is double checking her vitals.

“What happened?” she manages to croak out, and then coughs. Her aunt holds a glass of water up to her lips, and Madara drinks it greedily, water spilling across her scarred cheek. It is quickly followed by another four glasses as her aunt explains.

“Oh it was terrible, you were so injured Madara-sama, there was just so much blood, and the sword went straight through you, and nobody was sure that you were going to live, let alone wake up again. If it hadn’t been for that Hashirama Senju you likely would have died. 

“Granted, if it hadn’t been for him and his brother, you wouldn’t have been injured in the first place, but that’s besides the point now. 

“He healed you enough to move you back here, and Izuna-sama declared a temporary truce, that would be discussed later, once you woke up, and then Senju-sama sat at your side for nearly two whole days, healing you. Izuna-sama and the clan Elders have been in talks with the Senju ever since, trying to decide what to do now, and oh it’s just so good to see you awake again Madara-sama, I hate to think about what might have happened had you died,” she hugs Madara gently. Madara stiffly hugs her back with her right arm, her left side too tender to move yet.

“Oh I have to go and tell them that you’re awake now!” she says brightly, and Madara huffs out a laugh at how scatterbrained her aunt can be, even though she is the Uchiha’s best healer. Madara leans back against the wall behind the cot, and takes a few deep breaths. A week. It’s been a week since that happened. But she is alive, and Izuna is alive, and apparently there is finally, finally, the beginnings of an alliance between the Uchiha and the Senju. Madara isn’t quite sure how she feels about that, since she has done all she can to avoid such a thing since she broke off her friendship with Hashirama all those years ago. It has been much easier to keep up her hatred, much easier to scoff at promises of peace, and the shattered dreams of two children.

Hashirama. She pauses, and sighs, thinking about the Senju. She wonders if Hashirama is still a girl at heart, and something tells her that yes, without a doubt she is. She wonders if Hashirama is going to go through with the marriage to the Uzumaki, to help strengthen the Senju’s alliance to them. Madara wonders if the Senju might instead push Hashirama to marry an Uchiha, to solidify an alliance with them, if they manage to work something out. Mostly, she wonders what Hashirama is like now, if she is still that flouncy, sulking, dramatic girl she had been back when they were children. Somehow, she thinks that she is, at least when she’s not on the battlefield. One the battlefield Madara already knows what Hashirama is like, and she- no he when in battle (Madara can remember seeing no trace of the girl she had cared so much for when she has met Hashirama on the battlefield), is then terrifying to many. Madara closes her eyes, wondering why she is still so tired if she’s apparently been sleeping for a week.

And then she hears feet in the hallway and people rushing down it and she opens her eyes just as the door is slid open roughly, and she sees Izuna, and Hashirama, and even Tobirama is there, a scowl on his face, along with many clan Elders, who all try to rush forwards the second Izuna steps hesitantly into the room. She gives her brother a wry smile, and then he flings himself forwards with a cry of “Aneki!” and then he is hugging her tightly, uncaring of those around them. She winces a bit as pain lances through her side, but grins and hugs him back gently, finding herself not caring about those around them either. Not now, not when she has been so close to death yet again. And then Hashirama is there too, kneeling next to the cot, brown eyes wide in concern as he looks down at her and lifts a tanned hand to rest softly on her cheek, another hand landing on her bandage covered abdomen.

“Are you alright?” Hashirama’s voice is soft as green surrounds the hand that is on the bandages and she grins weakly, wondering if she's still sort of out of it. She thinks she must be as she speaks.

“Why don’t you tell me?” she asks instead and the Senju huffs out a soft laugh, she shifts in Izuna’s hold, and raises a hand to his face, shoving it away from where it is pressing uncomfortably against her shoulder, he is much too heavy against her side right now, “Come on ‘Zu, I’m alright now, and you’re squishing me,” she tells her brother, who reluctantly lets go of her. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks her, before turning to Hashirama, “Is she alright?” and Madara wonders when her brother decided to befriend the Senju, judging by how he shows no hesitance in turning asking for Hashirama’s opinion. Something must have happened in the week she was out she figured.

“She seems to be recovering just fine. The wound will scar, obviously, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage,” Hashirama answers, and there is a unanimous sigh of relief around the room, and soon enough the collected clan Elders begin squabbling about what’s going to happen next. Madara sighs, and closes her stinging eyes, a headache forming as she misses the concerned looks both her brother and Hashirama shoot her. A large hand comes to rest gently on her forehead and she can feel the healing chakra swirling around it and she feels herself relax, because it is Hashirama, and they might have been fighting for the last several years, but Madara can still easily see the twelve year old Hashirama had been so long ago now. She slouches down on the bed, and nearly lets herself drift back into sleep despite the squawking of the people filling the infirmary, until they decide to address her.

“Madara-sama, what do you think?” one of them turns to her, a look of disapproval on his face. Hashirama’s hand leaves her forehead as she sits up straighter, raising an eyebrow at the old man in front of her.

“Considering I have yet to be informed as to what you’re all arguing about, I have no opinion or thoughts about the matter,” she says dryly as she hears Izuna snort from beside her. The Elder sniffs at her and she’s pretty sure she hears him mutter something about insolent brats, and then surprisingly enough, it is Hashirama who fixes the man with a glare.

“Madara-sama is your Clan Head, you should show your respect,” Hashirama’s voice is calm, but there is a hint of iron in it and Madara wonders when the Senju picked that up, and she quirks her lips up in a quick grin, before smothering it and sitting up straighter, pushing everyone’s hands away as they tried to help her.

“We have been discussing the terms for a possible alliance with the Senju, Madara-sama,” a different Elder speaks, elbowing his way to the front of the crowd, and Madara gets the feeling that this impromptu meeting is going to do nothing but cause her a massive headache, and she idly wishes that she were still unconscious. 

“Unless any of the terms specifically apply to me, I fully trust Izuna to make a capable decision as co-Head of the Uchiha Clan,” she says, watching the gathered Elders with narrowed eyes, because she really wouldn’t be surprised if they slipped in a marriage clause for her somewhere (and she is quick to shut up the small voice in the back of her mind that says she wouldn’t mind that, depending on who it was she was to marry. She can see a quick flash of a child, with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a familiar wide grin before she quickly shuts her brain down. She cannot allow herself to think of such things. Daydreaming is a weakness she will not allow herself to indulge in.). Izuna properly reads his cue and stands up.

“I think we should give my sister some space. She did just wake up after spending a week unconscious because of a grave injury. Hashirama-sama is a very accomplished medic and will stay behind to make sure that Madara-sama is indeed alright, while Tobirama-sama and I will take over negotiations until our older siblings are able to join us,” he says, and expertly shoos everyone but Hashirama out of the small infirmary and away from that wing of the house.

And then it is quiet, and her and Hashirama are the only two in the small room, and Madara watches as the Senju sits gingerly on the edge of the cot she is still lying on. They are both silent for a while, as Hashirama’s hands glow green again and carefully span over her midsection, poking and prodding occasionally. 

“So what’s the verdict? Am I gonna live or what?” she asks, a faint smirk on her face, stretching the old scars on her cheek, as Hashirama’s eyes roll.

“You’re going to be sore for a while, and I don’t recommend moving about much in the next few days, but you’re going to be alright,” Hashirama responds, hands lifting off of Madara’s body. And Madara isn’t too sure how to go about confirming what she needs to, so she figures something indirect should work, so she shifts until she’s sitting up straight again, looking directly at Hashirama and ignoring the sting in her eyes as she forces them to focus.

“You know,” she begins quietly, “I have some hair pins I got from my mother. My hair is too unmanageable to wear them easily, but you’d probably be able to,” they’d look better on you anyways, she does not say as she keeps her voice light, because she isn’t sure if Hashirama remembers being that happy girl Madara had met by the river all those years ago now, because all she’s heard about the Senju and seen from the Senju in the past years have been tales and proof of how ‘he’ is a prime example of what a shinobi should be, the whispers of Hashirama, known to many already as the God of Shinobi, and Madara isn’t sure if her old friend is still somewhere underneath all of that or not, because she’s not even sure if Hashirama’s old friend is anywhere underneath the whispers of the Uchiha’s demon-lady anymore. She has spent so many years shoving down that twelve-year old girl she had been, killing off her own emotions to dedicate herself to her Clan and life as a shinobi.

The look Hashirama gives her makes Madara bite her lip, but she refuses to look down, to take back what she has said, and the silence stretches between the two of them. And then Hashirama grins, and lunges forwards to hug her tightly, and while she might have been able to jump and hug Madara easily back when she had been a scrawny twelve year old, Hashirama is now too tall and too heavy with muscle for Madara to end up anything but squished underneath the other as Hashirama tries to keep her laughter quiet.

“You remember!” her voice is thick and full of an emotion Madara can’t quite place, she’s not sure if she can call it relief or happiness or something else entirely, but it’s there, and she feels herself moving to wrap her arms around the other like she used to without really meaning to.

“Of course I do,” Madara says, voice muffled as Hashirama presses her face into her shoulder, practically straddling the Uchiha now as she nuzzles her face into Madara’s hair. Madara splutters at the action and tries to shove the Senju away, just as the door to the infirmary opens again and Izuna steps in. Madara glances over at her brother, face flushing pink as she tries to force some kind of words out of her mouth, but nothing is coming to mind, so she just watches as he raises an eyebrow, and then smirks at her.

“Well, I guess you’ll be alright with the Clan Elders doing their best to get you engaged to Hashirama then, huh, aneki?” he says, snickering as she tries to protest against his assumptions, shoving Hashirama off of her and off of the cot and swinging her legs over the side to hit the floor.

“Madaraaaa,” Hashirama pouts, and she shoots a glare at the now sulking brunette, desperately wanting to shoot her a rude gesture like she would have done when she was twelve, before she faces her brother.

“What do you mean the Clan Elders are doing their best to engage me to that idiot?” she demanded, pointing a finger in Hashirama’s face as she stands up, and promptly stumbles sideways, tripping over the Senju on the floor and proceeding to fall over her legs as both Hashirama and Izuna stare at her. Madara scowls at both of them and tries to stand up again, this time using Hashirama’s shoulder as leverage to help her stand up and keep her standing as Izuna tries to stifle his laughter and Hashirama giggles, before the brunette shoots Izuna a look.

“How are my clan’s Elders taking the proposition?” she asks Madara’s brother, who proceeds to make a face.

“Your Elders are almost more disagreeable than ours, the stubborn bastards. They seem dead set on having you marry an Uzumaki,” he says, and Hashirama sighs, making a face of her own.

“She sounds nice and all, but, uh, I really don’t want to marry her. I've never met her and she sounds too much like my grandmother, and my grandmother sort of terrified me as a child,” Hashirama says, carefully standing up while pushing Madara back down to sit on the edge of the cot, giving her a stern look. “You, are not supposed to be up yet, so just stay there, alright?” Madara glares at the Senju.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps and Hashirama sighs.

“You’re just as stubborn as ever,” she mutters, and Madara crosses her arms over her chest with a huff, swinging her legs back up onto the cot reluctantly, getting a smile from Hashirama at the action.

“Good. Now stay here, I’m going to go argue with the Elders to tell them why I should marry you instead of an Uzumaki,” Hashirama says, a cheerful grin on her face as Madara splutters wordlessly again, sitting upright on the cot as Hashirama kiss her scarred cheek, just as she had when they were children, and practically skips off. Madara is left on the cot, staring wordlessly at the door the Senju left through while Izuna stops trying to stifle his laughter, doubling over to hold his stomach as he laughs out loud instead.

“Oh shut up!” she snaps at him, cheeks flushing a bright pink as she glares at him, sending him a rude gesture that just makes him laugh harder.

“Hope you’re looking forwards to your wedding, aneki,” Izuna is still snickering as he straightens up and Madara let’s out a strangled noise.

“I am not getting married! To anyone!” she protests and Izuna shoots her a look.

“Of course you aren’t aneki, and that’s why Hashirama is currently talking at all of the Elders and his brother and explaining just why you two should get married. Again. Despite his brother’s protests. Actually, he’s been arguing some pretty good points the past few days...” Izuna trails off and Madara blinks.

“Wait, have you seriously been arguing over whether or not we’re getting married the entire time I’ve been unconscious?” she asks in disbelief, her brother shrugs.

“Basically. We’re all agreed on forming an alliance, and we were just waiting on you to wake up to sign the papers and hold the ceremony, and to discuss with Hashirama what you want to do with regards to building a village apparently?” he says, leaning back against the wall to look at her.

“ Huh, I can’t believe that Hashirama remembered- Actually yeah, I can believe that the idiot remembered about the village. S-” Madara has to force herself to stop right there, knowing that she can’t reveal the Senju’s secret, even to her brother (just like back when she had been twelve, she thinks with some nostalgia), “ _ He _ was pretty adamant about us building a village, back when we were younger. A safe place, where anyone can learn to be a shinobi, but no children are forced out into the battlefields,” she murmurs, and Izuna looks at her as she looks down at her hands.

It is strange, she finally decides, that all of this has happened while she was unaware of it. She’s not surprised that Izuna jumped on board with the idea of an alliance and peace, he had always been more of a pacifist than one for fighting, regardless of how he had always stood beside her on the battlefield. And now... Now the fighting seems to have come to an end. All because she nearly died. Madara can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Izuna had taken the hit like he had been supposed to. She looks down at her hands, squinting at them as her vision blurs out for a second and she wants to growl at how useless her eyes are becoming. She wonders what she would have done if Izuna had died, and immediately disregards the idea, not even wanting to think about it, not now, not when the future suddenly looks as bright as it did all those years ago. She thinks it is finally starting to sink in as she looks back up to see Izuna staring at her; he bites his lip.

“There’s something else, aneki, that Hashirama found out while you were unconscious,” he says, voice quiet, and Madara frowns.

“What is it?” she asks, wondering what it could have been. It’s not like she keeps many secrets after all, so long as it’s not-

“He found out about our eyesight,” that.

Madara clenches her jaw, hands tightening into fists as the previously unknown weakness of their bloodline is brought up. Had she known that the Mangekyo would cause her eyesight to deteriorate, well, she still probably would have gotten it, she just wouldn’t have let Izuna get it too.

“What did he say about it?” she asks, looking down at her hands, which have tightened, grabbing hold of the sheets on the cots.

“He said there may be a solution to it,” Izuna said softly, and Madara freezes, head snapping up.

“What,” she demands, and Izuna sighs, shutting the door and moving further into the room to sit on the edge of the cot.

“He looked at my eyes, and looked at yours as much as he could at the time. The Mangekyo has been causing the optic nerve to clog due to the amount of chakra being forced through it. Theoretically, he thinks that transplanting another’s eyes in would clear up the clog,” Izuna says quietly, and Madara narrows her eyes at him.

“What’s the catch?” she asks, knowing that there had to be one, it couldn’t as easy as this.

Izuna sighs. “Unless they were another Uchiha’s eyes, our Sharingan would be gone, and even then, the Mangekyo would be lost, because it is locked into our eyes, not anything else,” he says, and Madara knows that neither of them will give up their Sharingan to be able to see clearly again, and Madara knows that she cannot give up the Mangekyo. It is too much a part of her now, she has been using it for so long. And then Izuna starts speaking again.

“However,” his voice is soft, “Hashirama thinks that if your eyes were replaced with another pair possessing the Mangekyo, not only would you keep your Sharingan in general, but also the Mangekyo,” he says and Madara immediately knows what her brother is thinking.

“No,” she shakes her head, “Absolutely not,” her hands clench around the bed sheets as Izuna looks at her.

“You’re the Clan Head, Madara. You can’t afford to lose your eyesight nor your Mangekyo,” he sounds so calm discussing this and Madara feels the intense urge to hit something or someone and wishes she weren’t stuck in the infirmary as she keeps shaking her head.

“No. I won’t do it. Your eyes stay in your head, I’ll learn how to fight blind, I already do it half the time anyways,” she says, because it is true. She had already begun to train through her katas, working on aiming, and starting to learn how to sense better and use everything but her eyesight in a fight the second her vision had begun to blur. Izuna knows this; he has been training with her after all.

“But aneki-” she cuts him off.

“No Izuna. Just drop it,” she snaps, and he bites his lip and she rubs at the bridge of her nose. Sometimes, sometimes she wishes her little brother were a little less attached to her, were a little less selfless in regards to her, but she honestly doesn’t want that to change, because they are all the other has left, and she will gladly take another sword to the gut for him, and knows that he would happily do the same for her, but this is just too much. She hears Izuna sigh and wonders when she closed her eyes, but does not reopen them.

“You should get some sleep, aneki. It’ll help. I’ll go and make sure that the Elders haven’t arranged your betrothal without one of us there to keep them in line,” he says quietly, leaning forwards to hug her gently, before standing up.

“Thank you,” she mutters as she hears him walk towards the door.

“Get better soon, aneki, you’re probably the only one who can keep Hashirama in line, and somebody has to, he gets a little bit too enthusiastic sometimes,” she can hear the smile in his voice, and then the door opens and closes and Madara is left alone. Her eyes stay closed; there is no point in opening them, she reasons, as she lets herself slip down the cot, until she is lying on her back, pulling the blankets up to her chin and letting the darkness of much needed sleep wash over her. She will deal with everything later, once she is able to get out of bed again. 

  
  


It is three days more before Madara is able to stand for any length of time, and still her middle will throb with pain if it deems her to be moving too much. The stitches pull at her skin underneath the bandages that must be changed daily. It was however, not a quiet three days, as the world does not wait for injuries to heal to continue moving on. 

It is only a day after Madara wakes up that she hobbles into the large meeting hall, the long table in it full of arguing Elders as she leans on Izuna. She stands at the head of the table, straightening up as much as she can, chin high as she lets her eyes swirl red and glare at everyone present until they fall silent. She smiles grimly. 

“ Now that you have stopped acting like  _ children _ ,” she keeps her voice cold and flat, it is the only way her own clan listens to her, so she figures that it will work with the Senju Elders as well, “we can actually get something done.”

Madara does not sit down, even as her side twinges and she shifts, biting the inside of her cheek as the stitches tug at healing skin. 

“We are agreed that our two clans shall form an alliance of mutual benefit, yes?” she says, eyes sweeping the room, receiving nods and mutters in return. She ignores the mutterers, their opinions do not matter to her.

“The Uchiha and Senju shall be allied, and together shall form a village, where they will live in harmony and equality, with neither clan being more important than the other. We are equals and shall act as such,” her voice is firm. She turns to Hashirama who has come up on her left side.

“In a weeks time we can hold the official ceremony for the signing of the treaty,” she offers, and gets a nod in response.

“The base of the cliffs is neutral territory, and as such will be where the ceremony can occur, and the village can be built,” Hashirama offers in return, words as formal and rehearsed as her own.

“We are in agreement,” she says, and they nod at each other. There is silence for a few moments, before a disgruntled Uchiha Elders speaks.

“And what about the marriage?” he asks, and Madara wonders if anyone would actually miss him if he were to mysteriously disappear but decides she’d rather not have to deal with that kind of fallout at the moment, so instead she fixes him with a haughty stare.

“ What marriage?” she asks coldly, and pretends she can’t feel Hashirama pouting from where she is standing beside her. Madara had had to have a very long (and awkward) discussion with her brother the previous night about exactly why she wasn’t going to be marrying  _ anyone _ , so he would back her up on her decision. She had only let Hashirama know about it when they had talked before Madara left the infirmary. She keeps her glare fixed on the clan Elder, and she sees some of the other ones starting to shift around nervously as the man gulps a little.

“W-Well, we thought that it would be a good idea, to solidify the alliance, if our two clans were united by marriage,” he managed to get out, nods of agreement coming from around the room. Madara straightens up some more so she’s only barely leaning on her brother.

“Senju-sama and I have enough faith in our clans that we believe that they can co-exist peacefully without the need for something so superficial as an arranged marriage to solidify the alliance,” Madara says, even though she doesn’t exactly believe it, she just doesn’t want to get married. As she had told Hashirama earlier, when the other woman had sulked and pouted and protested Madara’s take on the situation; she had been born an Uchiha, and she would die one, no matter how much Hashirama pouted at her.

There are grumblings from both sides, (apparently Hashirama had been rather successful in her campaign to convince her clan to let her marry Madara) but they reluctantly back down and it is agreed that no marriage will be arranged. (Although Madara wouldn’t put it past any of the Elders to try and persuade Hashirama to court her anyways. Actually, she doubts that Hashirama would even need any encouragement to do so.) The ceremony for the alliance is arranged to occur in exactly two weeks, once Madara was able to move easier. And then the meeting disperses, with most of the Senju returning to their encampment to wait out the week. Hashirama stays behind though, entrusting her brother to take care of their clan while she stays behind to make sure that Madara's wound is healing properly, because Tobirama had been the one to cause it. Izuna helps Madara get to her room; she refuses to stay in the infirmary for any longer, and Hashirama follows both of them.

“Your bandages need to be changed, and I want to see how the wound is healing,” Hashirama says cheerfully as Madara gingerly sits down on her futon with Izuna's help. Madara huffs out a sigh as Izuna stifles a snicker; he's still insistent that her and Hashirama will end up married at some point in time, even if it has nothing to do with the alliance. She thinks he's nuts and has told him this. Four times now.

So Madara scowls as she unties the obi of the plain kimono she is wearing, having been outnumbered by her aunts and cousins who had had to help her dress that morning and proceeded to force her into womens clothes, despite all of Madara's protests. At least they hadn't been able to do anything to her hair; even they couldn't tame it. Madara does not feel any shame as she undresses while Hashirama chatters on about something or another, her and Izuna deliberately not looking at her as she removes her kimono, the lightly embroidered nagajuban beneath it, and her hada-juban, leaving her in the tight band of cloth she wore over her breasts and her susoyoke, tied loosely under her waist, which she has to loosen and shove down to her hips in order to reveal the bandages. Madara scowls at the pile of clothing she has tossed to the side, remembering with ease why she much prefers, well, basically anything, over female clothing. 

“You have to lie down,” there is laughter in Hashirama's voice, and Madara scowls up at her, decidedly  _ not _ blushing, as Izuna hides a grin behind his hand. There is a light knock on the closed door then, and Izuna throws them both a look.

“Try not to compromise my sister's honour, or actually, feel free to, because then she can't say no to marrying you, and the Elders will stopping nagging at me to marry. Plus it might help her temper a bit, and that's always a good thing,” he says with a grin and Madara feels her eye twitch as she glares at Izuna's back as he slips out of the room while Hashirama splutters, face red. The Senju carefully does not look at her as they hear footsteps fading away before silence falls. Madara sighs, and raises her eyebrows.

“Are you going to check the wound or can I get dressed again?” she asks, raising herself up on her elbows as Hashirama shifts and looks at her a bit startled.

“Huh? Oh! No, no, I'm going to check it, don't get dressed err-” she trails off and Madara idly wonders if things can get anymore awkward. Apparently it can, she thinks as Hashirama leans forwards and begins untying the bandages with deft fingers, both of them silent as she does so, nudging Madara gently to lift her midsection so the bandages can be unwrapped and moved out of the way. And then Hashirama's hands are gently poking and prodding at the neat stitches she had sewn through Madara's skin to close the gash left by Tobirama's sword. Her hands glow a soft green and Madara watches her through half-lidded eyes, vision hazy as she feels herself relax as she always seemed to do when Hashirama was healing her. It was odd, she thought, because she hated seeing healers, she hated anyone touching her, let alone pushing their chakra into her body, but for some reason, with Hashirama it was different. With Hashirama her body relaxed, and Madara was fairly certain that if she didn't watch herself, she'd end up dozing off with ease.

“I need you to turn over,” Hashirama murmurs, and with a start, Madara realizes that she had nearly dozed off while watching Hashirama work. She grunts in assent, and gingerly rolls over to lie on her stomach, cushioning her head on her arms as her eyes drift shut without her really realizing. Hashirama is humming, she notices, almost inaudibly, and Madara wonders if she even notices she is doing it while her long-fingered hands trace the sewn up gash on her back with gentle healing chakra flowing from them. Madara's hips shift a little and she lets out a quiet sigh, pressing her face into the crook of her arm as Hashirama's soft humming continues. She is halfway asleep when Hashirama nudges her gently.

“I'm done, you can turn back over,” her voice is quiet, and Madara makes a small sound of acknowledgment as she flops over onto her back again, opening her eyes the smallest amount possible to look up at the Senju, who is half-leaning over her, an odd look covering her face. She opens her mouth as if to speak, before closing it, pausing, and then opening it again.

“I have a salve with me, it's got some numbing herbs in it, along with some stuff that will help prevent too much scarring,” she finally says, “if you want I could put some of that over the wound before I re-bandage it...?” she offers, and Madara decides that it is too much effort to actually think at that moment.

“Mn, alright,” she mumbles, turning her head to press her face against her raised arm again, hearing the sounds of Hashirama pulling what is probably a small jar of ointment from a storage scroll.

“It might be a little cold,” she murmurs, and Madara shrugs as much as she can at the moment. Hashirama is right, the salve is a bit cold, but Hashirama's hands are warm, and leave the skin they touch tingling, and Madara can't place what she is feeling right now, but she doesn't think it matters because it isn't bad, quite the opposite in fact. Hashirama is rubbing the salve over her right hip in small circles and then her hand slips a bit lower for a brief moment, rubbing gently against her hipbone, and Madara has to bite her lip to keep in the gasp she nearly lets out involuntarily at the feeling. She wonders why her skin is so sensitive there and her eyes flutter open again, and she stares up at Hashirama, still biting her lip. Hashirama is still rubbing gentle circles over her skin, leaving it burning now as she stares down at Madara with half-lidded eyes. Slowly, her hand stops moving, until it is simply gripping her hip gently, and Madara's tongue darts out to wet her suddenly dry lips as Hashirama shifts, and leans forwards some.

“Madara...” she murmurs, and her grip on Madara's hip tightens and Madara finds herself letting out a quiet gasp, and then suddenly Hashirama is all she can focus on as a soft mouth is pressed against her own. Madara has never been kissed before in her life, but it becomes evident to her that this is not Hashirama's first kiss as the other shifts, the hand on her hip gripping it a bit better as Hashirama's other hand moves to rest beside Madara's head. There is the gentle pressure of a soft bite on Madara's lower lip and she gasps, and suddenly Hashirama's tongue is tracing her lower lip, before entering her mouth and  _ oh _ . Suddenly, Madara wonders why she's never kissed anyone before if it's this nice. But she knows that she has ever been interested in kissing anybody before, but she also already knows that she doesn't want Hashirama to stop kissing her.

Hashirama's hand is rubbing circles against her hip again as she slowly coaxes Madara into reciprocating the kiss, nipping at the other woman's tongue gently, before sucking on it as she leans over her. Madara makes a soft noise in the back of her throat and Hashirama has to pull away slightly to let them both breathe, there is a visible string of saliva connecting their mouths still as they stare at each other. Madara's cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wide and even darker than normal, and Hashirama can't resist the urge to lean down and press another deep kiss against her swollen lips, making Madara gasp into it, her back arching up just slightly as her arms rise to wrap around Hashirama's neck, fingers tangling in her brown hair as she pulls herself further into the kiss. The hand on Madara's hip moves underneath her, supporting the small of her back as Hashirama continues to press kisses against her mouth. All Hashirama can think about is Madara, and the fact that she is finally kissing her, after all of these years,and that it is even better than she thought it would be. In contrast, Madara's mind is blank, the only thing she can manage to think of is Hashirama, and that maybe she should've just kissed the other girl years ago and then they wouldn't have spent so long at odds with each other. 

And then Hashirama's thigh is between Madara's legs, pressing against her, and Madara's fingers tighten harshly in Hashirama's hair as she gasps loudly, shifting her hips down involuntarily as Hashirama begins to press open mouthed kisses against her jaw, trailing them down the curve of her neck and down to her collarbone, and then there is a flash of sharp pain as she  _ bites _ the juncture between her neck and shoulders and Madara moans low in her throat, tugging harshly at brown hair as Hashirama soothes the spot with kitten-licks and soft kisses. 

“Hashirama,” she gasps, pressing her hips down more, and she can feel something hard pressing against her hip as Hashirama's hips jerk and she sucks at the spot she has bitten, and then there is a hand trailing up her abdomen until it is below the band covering her breasts and Madara feels like she is on fire.

“Please,” she gasps out, tugging on Hashirama's hair again, and then the Senju is kissing her again as the hand slides underneath the cloth and there is warm hand covering her small breast and Madara moans into Hashirama's mouth as her breast is squeezed gently. Her hands tighten more in the Senju's hair, and she thinks that she never wants the other to stop touching her, not when it feels better than anything ever has before. And then footsteps sound in the corridor, and dark eyes meet as they widen in realization.

By the time Izuna enters the room, Hashirama is carefully a safe distance away from Madara, hair smoothed down from where the other had been grabbing it, and all signs of arousal hidden as best as they could be. Madara is simply lying on her stomach, face turned towards the wall as she tries to ignore the ache and pressing dampness between her legs, blanket dragged up around her chin to hide the reddening marks on the skin of her neck. Izuna looks between the two, and raises an eyebrow, but gets no explanation.

“Madara-san's wound is healing just fine, and with a few more healing sessions and a bit of luck all the damage should be gone,” Hashirama says, clearing her throat and carefully ignoring the blush on her own face as Madara feigns sleep.

“That's good,” Izuna says, before shooting his sister a look, “Is she asleep?” Hashirama nods.

“Mmhm, I'm not surprised, being unconscious because of a wound doesn't actually provide a person with much rest, so she has quite a bit of sleep to catch up on,” Hashirama lies easily, and gets a nod from Izuna.

“In that case we should probably leave her to rest, just as well, Hashirama-san, there's some things I want to discuss with you,” Izuna says cheerfully, and Hashirama tosses a quick glance Madara's way, but she is still pretending to be asleep, so the Senju turns back to the other Uchiha, and smiles.

“Of course, Izuna-san, lead the way,” Hashirama says, once more immersing herself in the role of a Clan Head, his back straightening as he leaves Madara's room, walking off with Izuna to discuss aspects of their clans alliance and the village that is to be built. 

Madara is quiet as they leave, biting her lip as she presses her thighs together tightly. Her face is hidden against her pillow, but she can still feel her cheeks burning, and she's not quite sure if it's out of embarrassment or shame or both. She figures that it's probably both at this point and bites her lip harder. She's not sure what to feel, and that fact has her agitated and wishing she could go out to train, or hit something, or someone, but no, it's better for her to pretend to sleep at least, because that way no one will bother her and she's pretty sure that she'd just throw anyone who tries to talk to her right now straight into a genjutsu. She can taste blood on her lip now and it... really doesn't help anything and she groans quietly, pressing her face harder against her pillow as she does her best to ignore the aching feeling between her thighs. She doesn't even know why her body still feels overheated, even without Hashirama leaning over her anymore, and she really wishes that Izuna hadn't interrupted... whatever the hell that had been. Madara isn't actually sure what _had_ just happened, but admittedly, it was probably for the best that they had been interrupted, even though her body disagrees, and she has to wonder just when her body decided that it was going to make decisions like that without consulting her brain about them. Madara thinks she's just going to blame Hashirama for it. After all, it was the Senju who had shown up and it was her who had somehow addled Madara's mind and ruined years of strict self-control in barely a few minutes.

Madara growls, and yanks her blanket up over her head. Sleep is good, she thinks. Better than thinking about the way Hashirama had been looking at her, with heavy dark eyes and a soft mouth and the smell of damp earth. Sleep, she thinks, and forces her body to relax, drifting off into the world of dreams.   


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you all enjoyed the second part of this!! You might have noticed (or seen my posts about it if you follow me on tumblr) that this has been changed from 4 chapters to 5, because I kind of realized that I have too much planned to fit into four chapters unless I want the fourth one to be reeeeeeaaaally long.   
> So yeah. You get an extra chapter instead.   
> Also as a forewarning, I will be bumping up the rating of this cause yeah, there's full out smut in Part III. and Part IV. and probably Part V too. I keep writing it by accident???   
> Anyways, please please please leave a comment or kudos (or preferably both!!!) if you enjoyed it! Hope that you're all well :)


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on as life is wont to do. The pieces are fitting together finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just warning everyone now that there is a sex scene at the end of this chapter. Also there's one in the next chapter too.   
> This chapter also has a kind of detailed medical procedure that might make a few people cringe. Just saying. Happy reading!

Part III

* * *

Two days later and Madara is able to stand on her own and dress herself, and while Hashirama is adamant that she be careful, Madara has no problems with pushing her body; she has been pushing it past it's limits for her entire life already. The seemingly never-ending meeting has broken up for the time being, and most Senju have left to go back to their own camp now, with only some staying behind in the Uchiha camp. Hashirama is one who remains behind still, despite Tobirama's protests. It is starting to confuse Madara now too, because her wound is healed and she is well on her way back to being fine now, and yet, Hashirama sticks around. (She hasn't talked to the Senju alone since that afternoon a few days ago; her cheeks burn and she has to bite the inside of her cheek every time she thinks of the incident.) Her confusion abates that afternoon as Hashirama and Izuna force her to sit down and talk to them about the one subject she'd really, really, prefer to avoid most of the time.

“You're going blind,” Hashirama's voice is soft, but her words are blunt, and Madara has to hold back a flinch at the statement, but she nods, keeping her chin high. Today has been a bad day for her eyes; everything is fuzzy and it takes far too much effort not to squint, or activate her Sharingan just to be able to _see_ , even for a short amount of time.

“I am,” she says, keeping her voice even as she speaks. 

“Your brother is going blind as well,” the Senju says.

“He is,” Madara agrees, and hears Izuna shift in his seat.

“I believe,” Hashirama's voice slows, “that there may be a way to remedy this.”

Madara frowns, and remembers what Izuna told her after she woke up three days ago. She raises her chin.

“I will not let _anyone_ sacrifice their own eyesight for my own benefit,” her voice is steady, but there is iron in it.

“Aneki-” Izuna begins, but she turns to the blur that is her little brother.

“No, Izuna. You are just important to the Clan as I am, and I will not let you give me your eyes,” she says, voice hard, and he backs down. There is silence for a few minutes, before someone, Hashirama she guess, shifts in their seat. 

“I think,” she begins, slowly, “I think, that there is a way to save _both_ of your eyesight,” and Madara is startled, and knows that it shows on her face. Hashirama continues.

“You two are siblings, and from the precursory examination I preformed last week, I already know that Izuna-san's eyes are compatible with your optic nerves Madara, which means that it is highly likely, that _your_ eyes are compatible with _Izuna's_ optic nerves,” Hashirama says, and Madara's breath catches in her throat. She feels Izuna still in his seat.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice is harsh. 

“I need to check your eyes now that you're awake, and go over Izuna-san's again, but, I'm relatively sure that they should be compatible,” Hashirama says, her voice calm. Madara doesn't pause to think. If both of them can have their eyesight and abilities saved, then any risk is worth it.

“Do it,” she says, and her eyes flutter closed as Hashirama rests a gentle hand over them, radiating heat. A faint shiver runs through her body at the feeling, and Madara has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from leaning into the touch, silently sighing at the feel of the other's chakra, and wondering again, just what it is about the Senju that draws Madara to her so very much.

“Izuna-san,” Hashirama says, removing her hand from Madara's face, and moving over to the younger Uchiha, quickly examining his eyes again, before pulling away and nodding to herself.

“I was right, both of your eyes are compatible with the other, I can implant Izuna-san's eyes into your sockets, Madara, and yours into Izuna-san's, and theoretically, _theoretically_ , you will retain not only your Sharingan, but your Mangekyo as well,” she says, voice soft. Blindly, Madara turns to her brother, one hand reaching out to grab his.

“Izuna?” she asks, voice quiet.

“Aneki,” his voice is calm as ever, “I think that it's probably our best option right now. Hashirama-san is the best medic in the world most likely, and I believe that he can do this. I already know that you trust him, aneki,” his voice turns teasing and Madara reaches up to flick his forehead.

“Cheeky brat,” she murmurs with exasperated fondness, “alright then, let's do this,” she turns to Hashirama, “When's the soonest you can do the procedure?”

“Tonight. I can do it tonight. You'll have to keep bandages over your eyes for at least a week to help your nerves take to them properly, but after that you should be just fine,” she sounds confident, and Madara can't deny Izuna's accusation that yes, she does trust Hashirama with her life, with _Izuna's_ life, with ease. 

“Alright,” she says, “alright,” she repeats, and Hashirama grins at her, leaning forwards to cup her cheek with a large, tanned hand gently, smoothing her thumb over Madara's sharp cheekbone, and the Uchiha finds it hard to breathe for the moment.

“Don't worry, Madara, you and Izuna-san will be just fine and able to see properly again soon enough,” she says, and Madara believes her wholeheartedly, just like whenever the Senju had declared something back when they were twelve.

Of course they have to tell the Uchiha clan Elders what is going to happen, and of course there are protests at a _Senju_ preforming an experimental medical procedure on the Uchiha Clan Head and her brother. But Madara shoots down their complaints with fierce snarls and Hashirama can see easily why even the Uchiha's own clan whispers demon-lady behind her back, and Hashirama has to bite her lip and shift her stance slightly, because Madara's fierce determination does not intimidate or scare her, in fact it does exactly the opposite and Hashirama can just remember how flushed the other woman looked underneath of her, lips bruised and eyes wide and dark. She is quick to push away the twinge of awkwardness in her own body as the very male parts of her anatomy spring to life at the memory and the images of what else she'd like to do, and she is forced to shift again and is suddenly very grateful for the table in front of them.

“Hashirama-sama is lauded as the best medic the shinobi world has ever seen, and if he believes that he can do this procedure with positive results, then I trust fully in his judgment, considering it was his skills that _saved my life_ ,” Madara is snarling and her clan Elders are acting suitably cowed now and Izuna is smiling serenely at Madara's side, and suddenly, Hashirama is very glad that her own clan Elders listen to her without her needing to be as vicious as the Uchiha woman. 

“I-In that case, when are you planning on having the procedure preformed?” one of the braver Elders stammers, and Hashirama takes this as her cue to stand up and smile blandly at them all.

“Preferably, right now actually. It will take at least a week for the implants to take properly, so neither Madara-sama nor Izuna-sama will be able to remove the bandages from their eyes for that time period, but afterwords, the implants will have taken properly by then and there should be no complications,” she says, and Madara and Izuna stand up as well. One of the Elder's protests, and Madara shoots him a withering glare, and even though Hashirama is pretty sure that Madara can't see the man clearly, her glare is still as poisonous as ever and the man gulps.

“We shall take our leave now,” she says, chin in the air as she sweeps out of the room.

“Should we do this in the infirmary?” Izuna asks as he and Hashirama follow the shortest of them out of the room. Hashirama nods.

“Yes, I'll need some of the tools there, and your aunt's help would be appreciated,” she says, and Izuna nods as Madara keeps walking wordlessly. The Senju can only guess at what's going through her mind right now.

The door to the infirmary looms before them, and the three silently enter it, startling Akemi Uchiha, who is in the process of fitting clean sheets to the cots decorating the room. She drops into a bow.

“Madara-sama! And Izuna-sama, and Hashirama-sama too! Here I was hoping that I wouldn't be seeing any of you three in here any time soon,” she says, voice light, but concern in her eyes. Hashirama smiles gently at the older woman.

“Akemi-san, I am sure that you are aware of the weakness in Madara-sama's and Izuna-sama's eyes, yes?” the woman bites her lip, but nods.

“Yes, I am,” she says, eyes darting between the two siblings.

“I believe that I have found a solution for it, and we are here to preform the procedure. It shouldn't take too long, and your help would be appreciated,” she says gently, and Akemi is quick to nod.

“Of course Hashirama-sama! I'd be happy to help!” she says, already rushing around the infirmary, preparing two cots for the siblings, and gathering the scant materials the Senju lists off. Gingerly, Madara settles down on the cot, sitting on the edge and facing her brother. She isn't sure how she feels about this, but she knows that she has to at least try, she's losing her sight anyways, so even a small chance of getting it back makes the risk worth it.

“Alright, I need you two to lie down,” Hashirama says, voice soft, “I'm going to put you both to sleep and numb around your eyes as much as I can so you shouldn't feel anything, otherwise, this might hurt.” 

“See you at the end of the week then, aneki,” Izuna says, voice dry as he complies with the Senju's request, and Madara snorts as she swings her legs up onto the cot.

“I am so sick of this place,” she mutters, but closes her eyes obligingly as Hashirama places a soft hand over them, and then, she is gone. 

Hashirama is nervous about doing this, but she is certain that she _can_ do it, and that is what matters right now. So as soon as Madara and Izuna have been rendered unconscious for the procedure, she turns to Akemi. 

“I'm going to need you to hold onto their...” she trails off, not wanting to say the word because already the woman is looking a bit squeamish; apparently all Uchiha's are touchy about their eyes. Hashirama isn't surprised. The older woman nods though, steeling herself.

“I'm going to switch them one at a time,” she is saying as her chakra forms thin scalpels around her hands; she is not going to chance using actual scalpels with something this delicate, and she brings her hand up to the side of Madara's sleeping face.

“Could you please hold open her eyelids,” she requests, and Akemi's hands are soon there, holding open the thin pieces of skin, and Hashirama works quickly, pulling the organ out of it's socket with barely a wince, which is more than can be said for the Uchiha woman, who looks a bit ashen-faced as she watches it happen. Hashirama holds onto the eye carefully, turning towards Izuna and walking around until she is on his right side. Akemi follows her, taking Madara's eye gingerly when Hashirama hands it to her.

She is quick to work on Izuna as well, and then, then it is time to see if her theory will prove true. She bites her lip as she exchanges eyes with Akemi, and then she's bending over again, carefully, gingerly, inserting Madara's eye into Izuna's now empty socket, aligning nerves and blood vessels and chakra pathways, until the dark orb is settled in properly, without a clog in sight. She tugs open Izuna's eyelids, and watches as the pupils dilate and she almost breathes a sigh of relief. The eye has taken, and his body doesn't seem to be rejecting it, but there is still Madara to do before she can finish up and call the procedure a complete success.

Hashirama walks back to Madara's beside, accepting Izuna's eye from the silent Uchiha, bending low to press it into Madara's socket, chakra swirling to connect tissue and nerves again until the eye is attached. Cautiously, she opens Madara's eyelids wider, biting her lip as she watches the eye. Sluggishly at first, but picking up to normal speed, the eye flicks around, reacting properly after a few tense seconds, and Hashirama almost wants to cry in relief, but she still has another pair of eyes to switch out. 

The second eyes switch out easily after the uncertainty of the first, and Hashirama falls into a chair after checking both pairs of eyes a second time, and wrapping bandages around them in order for them to have time in darkness to adjust properly.

“Senju-sama?” Akemi asks, biting her lip, and Hashirama smiles tiredly at her.

“It's done, and the eyes appear to have taken just fine to their new homes. I'll remove the bandages in a week, and they should be just fine and working properly by then,” she says, and runs a hand down her face, before yawning. 

“They're just asleep right now, which is for the best. They'll wake up normally tomorrow morning, so don't worry,” she stands up and smiles at the older woman, who smiles at her, and bows.

“Thank you, Senju-sama, you have our clan's gratitude for helping Madara-sama so much,” she says, and Hashirama's grin widens.

“I'm more than happy to help, I count Madara-san as a close friend, and I am glad to help her and her brother with something that I am able to fix such as this,” she says, inclining her head, before taking her leave, promising to be back in the infirmary early the next morning so she would be there when the Uchiha siblings awoke. 

  
  


Madara awakes early in the morning, just as she normally would, except, she is unable to open her eyes, and at first her body is gripped with panic at that fact, before she remembers what had happened the previous day, and she slowly forces herself to relax again. Carefully, she reaches a hand up, patting her face gently, and yup, her eyes are covered with a thick layer of bandages, and Madara lets out a slow breath. She can hear Izuna's unique snuffling snores from somewhere to her right and calms herself some more. Chances are, that she woke before Hashirama or Akemi got to the infirmary this morning; she is a very early riser out of habit these days, has been for years now. You never know when a battle would happen, or how long one would go on for, so she had been forced into being used to getting only small amounts of sleep. 

Carefully, she proceeds to sit up on the cot, turning her head from side to side as she listens to the sounds echoing throughout the quiet room, and the thoughts swirling around her busy mind. Eventually, she hears Izuna begin to waken as well, grumbling quietly and stretching, before rolling onto his side towards her. 

“Aneki?” he mumbles, voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Otouto,” she responds, and he relaxes minutely.

“Do you know if it worked yet?” he asks, voice quiet. She shrugs, even knowing that neither of them can see the action. 

“No idea, but I'm pretty sure that it did, otherwise Hashirama and Akemi-basan would be in here still,” she answers and they fall silent again, both lost in their own thoughts until footsteps sound in the corridor.

“Good morning!” and that is Hashirama, cheerful as ever as she probably sweeps into the room in an overly dramatic gesture and Madara can't help but snort at the mental image she has created. 

“How are you both feeling?” the Senju asks, walking over to them and fussing over Izuna first, before turning towards Madara, who bites the inside of her cheek as Hashirama leans directly over her, hands touching the bandages on her face, and feeling the chakra swirling around, cheeking over the state of her, well, Izuna's, eyes. She is humming softly as she works.

“So?” Madara asks, trying to fight down the blush she can feel rising to her cheeks, glad that they are mostly covered by the bandages.

“Well, there were no problems with the transplant, although Izuna's eyes took a bit longer to adjust and fit into your sockets than yours did with him, but that shouldn't cause any problems,” she says, adjusting the bandages over Madara's eyes slightly, before moving away. 

“I'm going to keep the bandages over your eyes for the rest of the week but you should be able to remove them soon,” she says brightly, and Madara nods. 

“Alright, sounds good,” she murmurs, and settles back against the wall to wait, listening to Hashirama happily chatter on about this and that and the plans being made for their village, and she can't help the soft smile that she can feel stretching across her face. 

  
  


The rest of the week passes in a blur (except not really, it actually passes in darkness, because Madara can't fucking _see_ anything and she hates it, it makes her gnaw on her lip in anxiety as she waits for the bandages to be removed, to be able to see again, to be able to do anything without having to feel the stares of _everyone_ on her, as she goes about her business just fine while blind), and soon enough, not only are Hashirama and Akemi in the infirmary, but so are most of the Uchiha Clan Elders and a good few of the Senju Elders as well, all waiting with baited breath as Hashirama begins to unwind the bandages first over Izuna's eyes, and then Madara's. Both keep their eyes closed as the Senju checks them over once more, chakra softly assessing how the implants have taken and making sure that nothing has gone wrong during the week. Finally, she steps back.

“You're good to go, feel free to open your eyes now,” she says quietly, stepping back, and slowly, very slowly, Madara feels her eyes begin to flutter open.

They take a few moments to adjust to the sudden influx of light, but once they have adjusted, the first thing she sees is Hashirama's concerned face watching her closely. She blinks, and then turns to check on Izuna, who is looking back at her with the eyes that she has always seen staring at her from her own reflection for the past twenty years. The best thing though, is without a doubt, the fact that she can _see_ again. Everything looks so _clear_ , and her eyes dart around quickly, drinking everything in. The light, the dust motes dancing in the air, the shift and twitch of people standing in silence, her own ungloved and scarred hands. Her eyes flick over to Hashirama, who gives her a smile, and a small nod, and Madara quickly has her Sharingan activated and it is- 

It is different. She can feel it. The chakra is flowing smoother than it ever had, even before the Mangekyo deteriorated her eyesight. Her body is almost vibrating with the need to get out on the battlefield in order to test how well Izuna's eyes work for her. She turns back to her brother, and sees his red and black eyes staring back at her, and she wonders if their eyes look the same again now, as they had when both had first activated the Sharingan, since his look like a mix of her own Mangekyo and his. He grins at her, and she can't fight back the small smile on her own face.

“Well?” one of the Uchiha Elders demands, breaking the silence that had fallen, and Madara turns her red and black spinning eyes to the man, pinning him with a glare, before smiling icily at him.

“The operation was obviously a success,” she nearly purrs, because oh it feels so good to be able to see again, and she can feel that she won't have any problems with Izuna's eyes in her sockets, unlike the problems her own eyes had been causing her. These eyes _work_ for her, better than her own ever had. Her eyes cut to Hashirama then, and she wonders if the other woman is up for a spar. As if reading her mind, the Senju frowns at her.

“Madara-san, please don't go picking any fights right now. You're still recovering from your injury and now this surgery, and I'd prefer not to have to heal you again any time soon,” she says, trying to sound stern, but Madara can feel the amusement in her voice, and she only just resists the urge to huff in frustration as Izuna snickers quietly beside her. Her Sharingan dies back down, and she crosses her arms under her breasts, before swinging her feet over the edge of the cot and standing up. She eyes Hashirama, before grinning a little herself.

“So now that absolutely everything else seems to have been taken care of,” she says lightly, “Shall we finish going over the preparations for the alliance ceremony?” Those words seem to break the spell of silence that had once more fallen over the infirmary, and soon enough everyone is busy, scurrying around to deliver messages, or yelling at each other, or any number of things, preparing for both the alliance, and to move from the encampment the Uchiha had lived in for the past thirty some odd years, in order to form a village with the Senju. 

The Uchiha encampment is hectic, and Madara can only imagine that the Senju camp is just as busy. Hashirama had had to go back to it the day after the bandages were removed, and Madara weirdly enough, finds herself missing the tanned Senju, but she is quick to shake her head and go back to signing important documents. Izuna knocks once on the door to the study before strolling into the small room that had once been their father's, perching on the edge of Madara's desk. She raises an eyebrow at him, before turning back to the scroll she has been making adjustments to, dipping her sealing stamp in ink quickly before pressing it against the paper, setting it aside to dry before it can be sent off. 

“That's.... something about the Daimyo?” Izuna asks in curiosity, eyeing the scroll from where he is sitting. Madara nods.

“It's been agreed Hashirama and I will arrange a meeting with the Daimyo about this village, and try to procure his support for it, and to promote it. It will be autonomous, but the Daimyo will provide funding and endorse it,” Madara says, ink-stained hands tugging at a few sheafs of paper, shuffling through them to find the one that she needs now. 

“Ah, yes, I'd heard about that,” Izuna mutters, before sighing. Madara looks up at him, frowning.

“Is there something wrong, 'Zu?” she asks, sitting back in her chair. He shakes his head.

“Of course not, aneki, everything's going fine, yeah? Your dream's finally coming true,” he says, and Madara feels herself smile a bit.

“No more barely trained children being killed on the battlefield,” she murmurs, and Izuna nods.

“Speaking of children...” he mentions, and Madara groans, letting her head fall into her hands.

“Please don't go there,” she mutters, and she can practically hear her brother pouting. 

“But aneki, we're going to have peace, you'll be able to have children and they won't have to grow up like we did,” he whines, and Madara eyes him.

“If you want kids to spoil that badly, Izuna, then go have your own,” she says bluntly, and he makes a face at her. 

“But girls are just, ugh,” he says, and Madara laughs; her brother's distaste with every one of their female cousins the Elders had tried to marry him off to was well known in their Clan.

“And what's wrong with girls?” Madara asks him with a hint of curiosity in her voice. She herself had no problems with them, so long as she wasn't being forced into acting like a demure noble lady, she usually preferred their company to that of men after all (which is part of why she felt so confused about Hashirama, but she wasn't about to think about that, not right now). 

Izuna looks at her before shuddering, “They're scary aneki. And not even scary like you are, you'll just hit me if I piss you off, I'd be scared of any girl I married trying to poison my food or something if I pissed her off, which I probably would,” he says, and Madara blinks, before snorting.

“With that attitude, yes, yes you would,” she mutters, turning back to her papers. Her brother is quiet for a few seconds, before speaking again.

“So the ceremony is tomorrow,” he says quietly, and she hums in response. 

“Are you looking forwards to seeing Hashirama-san again? He seems very fond of you,” Izuna says lightly, and Madara eyes him warily. She never knows what is going through her little brother's head; he's just so weird sometimes, and he likes to plot and plan things that make no sense to anyone but him.

“I guess you could say that,” she says slowly, “And of course he's fond of me, neither of us have forgotten about the friendship we had as children,” and then Izuna grins at her, and there is a wicked undertone to it and she thinks that she's fallen right into his latest scheme. 

“So you're fond of him too then? I remember that he was really upset that day at the river, and you weren't willing to do anything to hurt him either,” Izuna muses, and Madara feels perfectly justified in reaching out and shoving her brother off the edge of her desk. He yelps and looks up at her with a pout.

“Stop looking like a kicked puppy,” she mutters and he sulks more, “And stop trying to set me up with Hashirama. Besides, isn't he almost betrothed to an Uzumaki?” 

“That can always change,” Izuna murmurs, “I think at this point even the majority of the Senju would be more than alright with him marrying you instead,” he says, and Madara rolls her eyes.

“If you want to go bother the Senju so much, then here,” she says, tossing him a scroll, before smiling wickedly at him, “Make sure that that scroll is delivered to Tobirama please.”

Izuna looks horrified, before whining, “But aneki-!”

“Nope. Shoo. Scat. Go on now. Take that to Tobirama. Right now,” she makes shooing motions with her hands, and knows that Izuna will get her back somehow, but for now, her study is quiet again, and she is once more able to concentrate on her work. Or at least she's able to pretend that she's concentrating on her work, as instead her mind dwells on her brother's words. 

It is obvious to anyone that Hashirama is fond of her, more than that even, and Madara, for all that she might prefer to deny that she even has feelings at all, knows that she cares about the Senju, as much as she cares about her remaining brother, despite the years the had been at odds with each other. With a groan, she lets her head fall into her hands. Sometimes she really, really, wishes she had been born male, because at least then absolutely everyone around her wouldn't be trying to marry her off. However... She can't deny that the thought of being married to Hashirama isn't a bad one, especially if it were in their village. She can see flashes of children that Hashirama dotes on, the other all done up in kimono and facepaints and Madara's mother's kanzashi in her hair, looking better in them than Madara ever could. But the thought of getting married still made her skin crawl. 

As much as Madara thinks she could live with being married to the Senju, she does not think that she will ever be able to go through with it. She knew that if she did she would be expected to not only give away her name, but also herself, her position as a Clan Head, her life as a shinobi, almost everything that makes her _her._ And Madara is just not willing to do those things, not even for Hashirama. She just can't. 

So she pushes those thoughts away, focusing on her paperwork, needing to finish it before the ceremony tomorrow. She has no time to dwell on her feelings, or those flashes of dark haired, dark eyed, smiling children that everyone keeps pushing for. 

  
  


The ceremony happens. It is the twenty-fifth of February, and a date that will go down in history.

Madara refuses to wear a kimono for it. Instead, she wears her shinobi gear sans armor. Bandages wrapped tight around her calves, traditional Uchiha robe draped over her form, collar hiding the bottom of her face, and gloves on her hands. She is more comfortable in these clothes than she ever will be in anything else, she can't help but think. 

Hashirama is clad in hakama and haori, and Madara wonders why anyone ever lets the Senju dress herself because really? The Uchiha robes might be shapeless bags with collars most regard as too high, but at least they look better than what the Senju is wearing. 

The banners behind them are fluttering in the breeze as they speak the formal words required of them. The ceremony finishes as Hashirama and Madara shake hands in front of the assembled clans. Hashirama is grinning widely, and Madara can feel a small smile dancing around the edges of her own mouth. Izuna is standing at her right elbow, Tobirama directly across from him, and she's pretty sure that her brother is copying the Senju's pose; arms crossed and a mulish look on his face. Madara moves her eyes from the white-haired Senju, to see Hashirama still grinning brightly down at her, squeezing her hand gently, and Madara's own smile became a bit more evident as she looks at the brunette. The ceremony is over now, and people are cheering at the prospect of peace, and Madara feels almost giddy at the idea of it herself. They have come so far in such a short amount of time, and Madara can feel the ice she has built up around her heart over the years melting away at an alarming rate. She can't bring herself to mind. 

  
  


For the moment, their village is rows upon rows of tents amongst the clearings and trees at the foot of the cliffs, set up during the week preceding the ceremony as members of both clans moved from the old encampments, and Madara knows that it is going to take lots of gruelingly hard work to turn this place into a village, where both clan's children can grow up in peace, but she has never been one to back down from hard work. Even if it's paperwork, and she _hates_ paperwork, regardless of how often she is forced to do it. 

It is with a scowl that Madara stamps the last sheaf of paper, before leaning back in her chair some. Her tent is cramped, with the desk taking up most of the space, but considering how much time she has to spend at it, she can't complain. Izuna peeks his head into the tent, and spots the pile of papers and scrolls sitting on her desk.

“Are you done with those aneki? Cause I can take them if you are, you still shouldn't be moving around too much,” he says, and Madara wonders when her little brother became such a mother hen as she looks at him and shrugs.

“Everything's been signed and it's all been sorted through, so feel free to take it,” she says, standing up and stretching a bit, mindful of the fresh scar decorating her left side, “Don't stay up too late celebrating with everyone else once you're done though, I'll have no sympathy if you wake up with a hangover tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine, aneki, don't spoil my fun before I can even have any,” Izuna rolls his eyes , at her, and steps in to grab the paperwork, giving her a quick, one-armed hug, before stepping out of range of her halfhearted shove, “besides,” he grins, teasing her, “someone has to have fun for the both of us.” 

She rolls her eyes and shoos him away, standing up from her seat, and gingerly stretching her arms above her head. Her side is still tender, although she relishes in being able to move and stretch again, looking forwards to being once more able to flow through her katas in the early morning (also dress herself once more, keeping her female relatives from taking advantage of that fact to put her in all the clothing she normally will never wear), and she takes care not to push herself too far. Madara has cleaned up her desk and is setting out her bedroll for the night (because the raucous celebrations outside sound the exact opposite of tempting) when she feels Hashirama's chakra approaching, and pauses in her actions. She is still kneeling on the ground, settling out her blanket on top of the futon, when the brunette pokes her head into the tent, and Madara turns to face her.

“Madara?” Hashirama asks.

“Yes?” she asks, sitting back on her heels as Hashirama walks into her tent. Madara stands up, nose almost brushing against the Senju's chest as she closes the tent flap behind her. Hashirama smiles softly down at the Uchiha.

“I just want to come and see how you were doing. I know that you aren't really one for...” she pauses, before gesturing to outside the tent, where the noises of many, many, drunk shinobi were coming from, “celebrations like this.”

Madara shrugs, “I was going to read for a bit and then go to bed,” she says honestly, and Hashirama pouts.

“But that's so boring! You're not even going to go talk to anyone?” she asks, and Madara rolls her eyes, stepping back from the tanned woman as much as she is able to in the small tent.

“No thank you, I'd rather avoid talking to drunk people,” she says dryly, and Hashirama pouts more, before brightening up a bit.

“But you'll talk to me, right?” and Madara wonders if the Senju has been drinking too, before sighing, and moving to sit down at her desk again, for lack of anywhere else to sit.

“If you insist,” she says, and Hashirama grins brightly at her before pulling out a bottle of sake and two saucers and Madara cannot resist the urge to rub her temples and give her a _look_.

“Really, Hashirama?” she says, and the brunette nods happily, before pouring them both a drink.

“It's for good luck,” her voice is playful, and Madara has to wonder just how much the other woman might have already had to drink tonight, before sighing, and taking to offered saucer.

“To the village,” she murmurs, and Hashirama nods.

“To the village, may it be successful and prosper for as long as this world lives,” Hashirama's voice is soft, and they both drink in silence. They sit for a few moments, before Hashirama motions for Madara to lower her saucer so the Senju can pour more sake into it. Madara frowns.

“I don't want to get drunk,” she says, even as she lowers the dish, and Hashirama giggles.

“You can't get drunk from two drinks, trust me,” she says, pouring the sake out for the Uchiha, and then pouring more for herself.

This process repeats itself another four times, until Madara can feel her cheeks flushing, and she finds herself sitting next to the Senju, leaning back against the front of her desk as Hashirama regales her with a story about some mission she had been on a few years back. Madara eyes the waving arms and moving mouth with distaste, before huffing and leaning against Hashirama's shoulder heavily.

“You talk too much,” she mumbles, and Hashirama pouts.

“You're so mean to me,” she whines and pours the last of the sake into her own dish a bit sloppily.

“ 's cause it's true,” Madara murmurs, watching the Senju's movements with bright eyes. Hashirama downs the sake, and leans down so that her face is closer to Madara's, her lower lip is sticking out in a pout.

“But it's not nice,” she says, and Madara shrugs.

“ 'm not nice. Deal with it,” her voice comes out quieter than she had meant for it to be, and Hashirama frowns.

“I don't think I will,” she says after a brief moment of thought. Madara blinks at her.

“... Huh?” she asks, and wonders just why she had agreed to drinking with the other.

“I dun wanna deal with you being not nice,” Hashirama is saying, and Madara's brow furrows.

“ 'nd what're you gonna do about it?” she asks, sitting upright again, Hashirama looks at her, and tilts her head to the side, tapping her chin as if in thought, before grinning.

“Can't be not nice if you can't talk,” she says cheerfully, and Madara gives her a deadpan look.

“Stupid, how're you gonna keep me from talking?” she says, and there is a glint in Hashirama's eyes that worries the still sober part of Madara's mind, but excites it at the same time, and she tells it to shut up.

“Like this!” the Senju answers, before getting up on her knees and knocking Madara over onto her back, the air leaving her in a rush as she gasps up at the brunette now leaning over her for a few minutes, before she begins trying to push the taller away.

“The hell are you doing,” she snaps, but Hashirama is too heavy with muscle for the Uchiha to move, especially when she has such a pleasant buzz going on from the sake, so she settles for glaring up at her, from where she has been pinned underneath the other's bulk. Hashirama is giving her an odd odd look, one that Madara can remember from a few weeks ago and her breath catches in her chest.

“Hashirama...?” she mumbles, and the other leans down until their lips are just barely brushing, waiting, as she locks brown eyes with black, and then Madara's arms are moving up to twine themselves through brown hair, pressing her lips against the Senju's as she pulls her down closer. Madara gasps and Hashirama is pressing soft kisses all over her face, murmuring words too low for her to hear, but she shivers and pulls the brunette's face closer as she starts nipping at her neck.

Madara breathes out a curse as Hashirama bites down hard against her neck, her back arching up slightly, brushing her chest against the other's as she buries her fingers in brown hair and tugs the Senju back up for a messy kiss, both of them biting at each other, and pulling away, panting.

“Can I...?” Hashirama's voice trails off, but her hands are starting to slip underneath the loose top Madara is wearing, and she nods and then Hashirama is pulling the top off, leaving her just in her chest bindings and pants, but then a hot mouth attaches itself to her collarbone and Madara lets out a low moan, giving brown hair a sharp tug when she feels a smirk against her skin. Hashirama bites her again in response and Madara is quick to slap a hand over her mouth after hearing the noise she just let out. Her cheeks are burning red as the Senju looks up at her, a lazy grin on her face as one tanned hand traces circles against Madara's hip.

Hashirama nuzzles against her neck as her fingers trail up Madara's body, until they reach her breast bindings, brown eyes glance at her again, and Madara gives a small nod, biting her lip as the bindings are unwound to reveal small, pale breasts. Madara's grip on the brunette's hair has slackened, but it tightens again as Hashirama leans in and begins biting and sucking on her breasts and her back arches up into it and Madara doesn't think that she's ever made such embarrassing noises before but _oh_. And then Hashirama's thigh is pressing between her legs and it's all Madara can do to breathe, let alone keep from shouting out, so she tugs on long brown hair until Hashirama's face is level with hers again so she can press her lips against the other's, kissing her hungrily.

Hashirama's hands are soft on her breasts, cupping them, tugging them, but it is too gentle, and not enough, so Madara untangles her hands from the other's hair, and finds the edge of the shirt Hashirama is wearing, so she can slide her hands underneath of it and rake her nails up the brunette's back. Hashirama gasps and groans against her mouth, and Madara feels herself grin, before dragging her nails down the Senju's back as well and Hashirama growls and bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood and Madara moans at the feeling.

Hashirama huffs a soft laugh against her mouth, before one tanned hand reaches down and grabs at Madara's leg, yanking it up to wrap around the Senju's hips as they jerk forwards and Madara bites down on Hashirama's neck to muffle the noise that tries to escape her. Hashirama's shirt is thrown off somewhere, and a too warm tanned chest is pressing her down against the ground, and Madara keens as teeth find her nipples, biting and sucking and licking at them as her nails dig into broad shoulders, drawing blood as she moans, her hips grinding down of their own accord, desperately seeking any kind of friction. It's not enough though, Madara needs more, so she bites Hashirama's collarbone, lapping away the blood as she kicks her sandals off, hands moving to shove at her pants. The Senju picks up the hint and helps her tug the last of her clothing off, stopping momentarily and staring at her when she realizes that Madara doesn't actually wear anything underneath her pants.

“What?” Madara asks, raising an eyebrow as she lifts herself on one elbow, Hashirama just blinks, before laughing.

“Somehow, I'm not surprised,” she says, before bending down again and suddenly a hot mouth is being pressed against the one part of her body that nobody but Madara herself has seen, and her fingers lock in brown hair as she lets out a strangled moan.

Madara breathes out curses as she tugs Hashirama's face closer, pressing her hips down as a skilled tongue laps at her centre, teeth nipping gently at sensitive skin before soft kisses are pressed against it as well. And then there are fingers, gently pressing at her thighs until they spread apart more, and then they are gently pressing against her dripping core as Hashirama bites at _something_ that makes her whole body jerk and causes her to moan the brunette's name loudly as a single long finger is pressed into her.

“Shhh,” Hashirama murmurs, lips moving against her thigh, kissing it gently, “Can't be too loud, or someone'll hear us,” Madara tugs at her hair harshly, ripping out a few strands.

“F-Fuck that,” she gasps out, growling as another finger makes it's way inside of her, and they scissor, before curling and a thumb is pressed against that one bundle of nerves above her slit again and she lets out a high-pitched moan. Hashirama smiles against her thigh, before her thumb starts rubbing circles against the small nub and a third finger presses into Madara and she shoves her hips down against it and sees stars, gasping out Hashirama's name breathlessly as her back arches before falling back. Her eyelids are heavy as she watches Hashirama slowly pull her fingers out of her, before grinning at the Uchiha and beginning to lick them clean of the sticky fluids they were covered with. Madara has to bite her lip to keep from moaning at the sight. And then Hashirama leans down to kiss her messily, and Madara buries her fingers in brown hair again, wrapping her legs around slim hips to press against the bulge in Hashirama's pants, causing the Senju to gasp silently into her mouth, before pulling away slightly, hands pressed against the bedroll beside Madara's head, looking down at her with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Are you sure?” she asks, voice low with a rough edge to it. Madara stares back up at her challengingly, pulling at Hashirama's hair and leaning up to bite the spot underneath her ear, making her moan low in her throat.

“ 'f course I'm sure, now hurry up,” she mutters against tanned skin, until her mouth is drawn into a hungry, possessive kiss. She's not thinking anymore, having stopped thinking before even the first kiss. It was easier to just let her body react, like she did during a battle, so Madara resolutely did not think, pressing her hips harder against Hashirama, moaning into that warm mouth and tugging harshly at long brown hair. And then Hashirama's pants are gone too and they are both bared to each other and she can feel Hashirama's length pressing against her thigh.

And then Hashirama is pushing into her and that's all she can concentrate on as she gasps, and moans and presses back against Hashirama, nails raking up the tanned back of the other as Madara's eyes squeeze shut. They are moving then, Madara pushing back with each of Hashirama's thrusts and both are panting, gasping for breath and Madara drags Hashirama's mouth to hers, biting at the Senju's lips and licking away the dots of blood that soon decorate it.

“Harder,” she manages to growl out because Hashirama's being too gentle with her again, and brown eyes are looking at her as large hands grip her hips and they still.

“Are you-” Hashirama begins to say, but Madara has had enough of talking and hesitation, and making sure that her legs are locked around the Senju's hips, reaches up to push the other over. Hashirama is forced to let her go, putting hands back against the ground to keep from falling over, and both moan loudly as Madara settles in Hashirama's lap, forcing the other deeper into her body as her nails dig into tanned shoulders again. She can't bring herself to care about the blood dripping from the marks she's leaving as she lifts her hips slightly, and then Hashirama's hands are resting on them again in order to pull her back down and Madara throws her head back. Hashirama leans in to bite and kiss at her chest, anywhere the other's mouth can reach, and Madara can feel blood dripping from some of those bites and it just makes everything even better so she laughs breathlessly, bites down hard against the junction between Hashirama's neck and shoulder, lapping away the blood with a growl as her hips are tugged down further and Hashirama pushes deeper into her.

“I'm- I'm going to-” Hashirama is attempting to gasp something out, fingers digging into Madara's hips, without a doubt leaving bruises, and then she pushes her hips down more, and rolls them in a way that makes both of them moan again and then Hashirama is releasing inside of her and Madara gasps as her thighs clench and black dots dance across her vision as she clutches at Hashirama, body shaking as her hips keep rolling, riding out her own high as Hashirama presses her face against her collarbone, panting.

Neither are willing to move as they come down from their high, catching their breath as they sit in the sudden silence of Madara's tent. Hashirama shifts and Madara's hands tighten from where they have wound underneath the Senju's arms to tangle fingers in brown hair again and she can feel the other woman's breath against the top of her head as she moves it from where it has been pressed against Madara's sweaty skin. She looks up at Madara, who's eyes are almost glazed over as she stares down at Hashirama, lips swollen from their kisses, and still trying to catch her breath.

“Madara?” she murmurs, and the Uchiha's eyes flicker down to her, and then she bends down herself, pressing a sloppy kiss against Hashirama's lips, before going almost limp in her arms. Hashirama blinks down at her.

“Think I'm gonna sleep now, mmkay,” she mutters against Hashirama's neck, having decided that she would really rather not have to deal with the ramifications of what they had just done right now, not when she can already feel the hangover she's going to have in the morning, and the soreness of muscles that she didn't know could get sore. She doesn't want to think about what she had just done, or the fact that she would happily do it all over again (although preferably without the alcohol next time).

“Oh, uh, alright,” Hashirama says and Madara sighs.

“You're staying,” she tells the Senju, closing her eyes as she presses her face against her neck more, and she can almost feel the amusement radiating from the brunette, but she carefully leans back, keeping Madara hugged tight to her chest as she carefully pulls out, making Madara have to shift and pull a face at the fluids now leaking from her, but she is too tired now to deal with them. Hashirama tugs the blanket up around their shoulders, wrapping her arms around Madara's waist again as the Uchiha curls up against her, nuzzling against her chest, before falling asleep. Hashirama presses a soft kiss against the top of Madara's hair, murmuring words the woman won't hear before letting herself succumb to sleep as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so everyone's probably noticed that I've bumped this up from five parts, to six now. That is completely the story's fault because I just keep accidentally writing more??? Hopefully I should be able to keep it at six parts though ;w;   
> I want to thank everyone who's left kudos or a comment and send them lots of hugs and cookies because I live for comments on my writing and I love getting them so much and you're all wonderful <3  
> Thanks for reading!!


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies by when you're being kept busy, and are they ever being kept busy now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene near the end of this chapter is inspired by [this wonderful piece of art right here](http://thefairyprincev.tumblr.com/post/119976916753/i-really-liked-your-recent-drabble-and-it) that was drawn for me by the incredibly talented Nicky from [askmadahashi](http://askmadahashi.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

Part IV

* * *

 

Madara finds herself growling, wondering why she thought that this village was ever a good idea as even more paperwork is added to the precariously balanced stack of it on her desk. It has only been just over two weeks and already Madara is eyeing up her sword and kama every time somebody else walks into the office of the small building Hashirama had created for the purposes of administration. Idly, she wonders what the Senju is doing today as she signs off on several more papers, and if she can hunt down the taller woman and stuff some of these scrolls down her throat for dumping all the paperwork on her. And then the object of her ire comes bouncing into the office, a wide grin on her face, and dirt smudged across her nose. Madara raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat.

“You have dirt on your face,” she says, and Hashirama pauses, eyes crossing for a moment as she tries to find it, rubbing at it with her sleeve until it's gone, before grinning again.

“We got a reply from the Daimyo!” she says happily, holding out the scroll bedecked in the seal of the Fire Daimyo for Madara to take, which she does, unrolling it to read what's been written on it. Lots of formal and flowery words later and she is done, letting the scroll snap back.

“He's agreed to support the village, in exchange for the ability to ask some shinobi if they'd like to be part of his guard for at least five years,” she says, and Hashirama nods eagerly, before Madara continues, “He'd also like to meet with us, next week,” she murmurs, before sighing and rubbing the bridge of her nose. Gods above but she _hated_ politics.

“We'll go then, I'm sure that our brother's are capable of holding the village together for a few days while we're gone,” she says cheerfully, and Madara snorts.

“So long as they aren't trying to kill each other, you mean,” her voice is dry, but she is already sorting through papers, tugging a few blank ones out of drawers, wetting her brush with ink and beginning to write on them, already making preparations for their absence. She pauses when Hashirama drapes herself over her, chin digging into her shoulder and a warm cheek pressed against her unscarred one.

“They'll be just fine, you worry too much,” the Senju's voice was still happy, and Madara rolls her eyes.

“And you don't worry enough,” she retorts, and feels the other pout, before shooting up suddenly. Madara finishes writing on the last page, setting it aside to dry, before turning to face Hashirama, who's eyes are blazing with some inane idea or another already.

“What is it?” Madara asks cautiously.

“A name!” Hashirama nearly shouts, and Madara's brow furrows, her head tilting slightly to the side, “Our village needs a name still!” Madara blinks, before realizing that yes, they hadn't actually named it yet. She protests when Hashirama grabs at her hand, yanking her up from behind her desk and out of the building, through the rows of houses and shops being built, and up to the top of the cliff they had sat on as children, all the while chattering on about possible names.

They sit on the top of the cliff, much like they had all those years ago, Hashirama grinning over at her and Madara grinning back. A leaf flutters by and Madara, without really thinking about it, reaches out to grab it, twisting it around in her hands.

“Do you remember?” Hashirama says suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Hm?” she asks, cutting her eyes to the side to look at the other. Hashirama is smiling fondly out at the budding village.

“Talking here when we were kids,” she clarifies, and Madara hums in assent, nodding slightly.

“It was just us being stupid kids back then,” she murmurs, and Hashirama laughs.

“But now it's come true. Our dream is turning into a reality,” she says quietly, and they are silent again for a few moments.

“Hokage,” Hashirama says suddenly, and Madara turns to look up at her with a raised eyebrow, and Hashirama grins at her, “Someone to lead the village, be the face of it and make decisions for the best of everyone living in it.” Madara blinks. It is a good idea (she's not too sure about the name though).

“I think you would be the best choice for Hokage!” she says next, and Madara just _stares_ at her, before one eyebrow slowly rises. Hashirama continues on.

“You would do a great job at it, watching over everyone,” she says, still grinning, and Madara's lips twist faintly.

“But you'll be Hokage, Hashirama,” she says quietly, and Hashirama frowns, both at her friend's words, and at being cut off.

“Nu-uh,” she says, and Madara can remember a twelve-year old Hashirama saying just that, with the exact same pout on her face, arms crossed, and rolls her eyes.

“My own clan barely listens to me because I'm a woman, there's no way an entire village would listen to me, especially because I'm the “demon-lady”,” she mocks the ridiculous name that so many call her behind her back, “No one wants to follow me, they'd all much rather follow the “God of Shinobi”,” she says bluntly and Hashirama winces a little at the truth in Madara's words.

“That's not true-” she tries to protest, but Madara just shoots her a look and she wilts, and then Madara grins wickedly.

“And once you're Hokage, you'll have to stop making me do all the paperwork,” she teases, and Hashirama's horrified look makes her laugh.

“But you're so much better at it,” she whines, and Madara gives into the need to stick her tongue out at the other.

“Nope! You're gonna have to do your own paperwork, and I'll be off doing missions while you sit in your office all day,” she says, grinning, and Hashirama sulks for a bit, and then she straightens up and grins, a glint in her eyes.

“Yeah well when you become Hokage, I'll get people to carve your face in this side of this cliff, although we'll probably have to get them to soften it a bit, you have a face only a mother could love,” Hashirama laughs, and Madara rolls her eyes.

“Are you seriously going to curse everyone to have to stare at your ugly mug everyday when you become Hokage?” she snarks back at the other, and they continue on for a bit, and Madara realizes that it is so incredibly easy to fall back into habits long forgotten with Hashirama. She hasn't teased and been teased like this in years. It's kind of nice, she muses silently to herself, before turning back to hear Hashirama changing the subject.

“The village still needs a name!” she gasps, tilting her head as she looks at Madara, “Do you have any ideas?”

Madara frowns, thinking to herself, before looking down at the leaf she has been twirling through her hands. There is an almost perfect circle straight through it, and without really thinking about it, she lifts it in order to look through the hole. She can see the village through it, and the trees that surround it, and she speaks without thinking.

“Konoha... The Village Hidden in the Leaves...” she murmurs. Hashirama looks like she's about to protest the simplicity of it, but Madara just raises an eyebrow and mouths 'Hokage?' at her, and her shoulders slump, her lower lip sticking out in a pout once more.

Madara rolls her eyes at the brunette, “I can't believe you still sulk so much,” she says, twirling the leaf through her fingers again, before tossing it into the breeze and watching as it floats out through the village.

“And I can't believe that you're still so grumpy,” Hashirama shoots back and Madara's eye twitches.

“Just because I'm not as happy-go-lucky as you are, doesn't make me grumpy,” she shoots back, and Hashirama laughs.

“And you still have that temper, it's a good thing you're cute,” the Senju grins at her, and Madara gapes, cheeks flushing, before she splutters.

“I am not _cute!_ ” she protests (because she isn't, she has long since scarred her own face to keep from being called any such thing), but Hashirama just grins and bounces over to her, and then a long arm is wrapped tightly around her shoulders and Madara finds her face being squished against Hashirama's hard chest.

“You're right, you're _adorable_ ,” the Senju declares dramatically, and Madara splutters more, getting her hands against Hashirama's chest in order to try and push the taller away, barely managing to pull her face away.

“I am _not!_ Now let me go!” she snaps, trying her best to ignore her burning cheeks as Hashirama leans down to rub her own cheek against Madara's scarred one.

“But-”

“There you are!” both of them freeze, turning to face a scowling Tobirama and an amused Izuna, who have shown up on the top of the cliff, just past the tree line. Madara blinks, before taking advantage of Hashirama's distraction to escape her hold, straightening her ruffled clothes and trying to smooth down her mess of hair as much as she can.

“You two need to get a room aneki,” Izuna says with a grin, and Madara glares at him.

“I can still tie you down and practice putting facepaints on you, you should remember that, otouto,” she sniffs, and Izuna blanches, before schooling his features. They both turn to the Senju siblings, were Hashirama is sulking and Tobirama is scolding her for for something or another.

“He's so annoying,” Izuna mutters, and Madara turns to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Who is?”

“Tobirama,” Izuna huffs, crossing his arms, “Everything has to be perfectly done _his_ way, or he'll bitch at everyone. It's enough to drive a person mad,” Madara blinks.

“Are you... pouting?” she asks, because she has seen that look on Hashirama's face often enough, and then her brother glares down at her.

“Of course not!” she grins.

“You were!”

“Were not!”

“Were!”

“Were not!”

“Wer-”

“Are you two done acting like children yet?” Tobirama's voice is dry as he interrupts them, and Madara doesn't hesitate, turning a glare on him.

“Depends, are _you_ done acting like a child yet?” she asks sweetly, and Izuna snickers. Tobirama's scowl deepens, and a few more words are said, before the Uchiha and Senju siblings go their separate ways for the time being, both having work to get back to. Unfortunately.

 

Madara isn't surprised in the least when Hashirama is elected Hokage, and she shrugs and tells her brother as much as she sits on the back porch of the small house they share. Madara is holding a cup of green tea, watching the small stream in her backyard flow across rocks as Izuna leans against a post, arms crossed as he looks out at the yard. Neither of them stayed for the arranged celebrations after the announcement. Their cousin Hikaku will take care of any formalities that need the presence of an Uchiha.

“Are you sure that you're not upset by it?” he asks, for what sounds like the hundredth time now. She rolls her eyes, and takes a sip of her tea, grimacing when she realizes that it's gone cold.

“I'm sure Izuna. Unlike Hashirama, I wasn't under any delusions that anyone would want me in charge of this place,” she says, keeping her face blank as she speaks, because while she isn't surprised at the outcome, she is still surprised by how much it _hurts_ to have not even been considered. Her grip on her cup tightens minutely, and she stares down at the cold liquid within it. It hurts that nobody, barely even her own clan, bothers to recognize that it was not just the Senju, not just Hashirama, who had come up with this village, who had given so much into it already, who would give their all for it. No, she is just the Uchiha's demon-lady. The disappointment. Good for nothing but to kill and fight.

“Aneki,” Izuna murmurs, and with a start, Madara realizes that her cup has shattered, and cold tea and blood are now both dripping from her hand. She blinks and stares down at the mess for a few moments. Her brother sighs, and disappears for a moment, returning with a cloth and beginning to pick up the shards, cleaning her hand as she stays quiet. She doesn't move.

“Aneki,” Izuna repeats, some minutes later, “one of us should probably show our face at the celebrations,” his voice is quiet, “Can I trust you not to do anything stupid if I leave you alone for a few hours?” he asks her.

Madara raises a hand, resting it against the scars on her cheek as she did so often. Her nails dig into the top of them, and she drags them down the side of her face, feeling the sting of her actions as she keeps staring out at the small stream.

“I don't know, can you?” she responds, just as quiet, and hears him sigh. Her lips twist in a bitter smile; she isn't even sure if he can actually trust her not to do anything he would consider stupid, because they had very different ideas of what that consisted of.

“I don't think I can, but I'm going to have to anyways,” Izuna says, and Madara lets her nails dig a little deeper against her cheek.

“Try not to cause any kind of irreparable damage while I'm off playing nice with everyone,” he says.

“I'll try,” she murmurs, and Izuna takes his leave of her. Madara stays where she is, not bothering to move, because if she moves she will do something that will disappoint Izuna and she knows that. The temptation to just up and leave the village is almost too strong to fight right now. But her brother is here, and so is Hashirama, so she will stay. For now, she decides, and lets her hand fall back into her lap.

It is dark out when Hashirama shows up, and Madara wonders if she has to move now or if she can just keep pretending to be a statue, never moving, never feeling. But then Hashirama speaks in that quiet voice she sometimes has.

“I'm sorry,” is all she says, and Madara bites her lip, because she will not react. She will not. It is weakness to show emotion, to show feelings, to want to cry and scream and burn everything down because no matter she has done, she will never, ever, be good enough for anyone.

“I'm sorry Madara,” she repeats, and then there is a comforting weight at her left side, and an arm is wrapped around her stiff shoulders, breaking her pose in order to draw her close, a face pressed against her hair as she is hugged. One tanned hand finds her bandaged one, and she doesn't have to look to know that Hashirama is frowning at it, gently unwrapping it before holding it close, green chakra swirls around their joined hands and Madara watches as the freshly scabbed over cuts hiss and heal at Hashirama's unspoken command. She wants to hate the Senju right now. She wants to hate her, and rage, and go back to days of constant battles, the struggle to simply survive, because it is easier, it is what she knows best. Madara feels cast aside now. Cut loose when she had before been tied so tightly, and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know if this village, this pipe dream, will be enough to tie her down again.

“It will be, I promise. It might take some time, but it will be enough. You'll see,” Hashirama's voice is low and soothing, and Madara hadn't even realized that she had spoken the words churning around in her mind.

“But how do you know that,” her voice is hoarse from being quiet for so long. A tanned hand gently cups her chin, tilting her head up, and brown eyes, so full of emotion, stare down at her.

“I know because I believe in you Madara. It will take time to adjust, certainly, but I believe in you, and I believe in the village. Together we will do just fine,” Hashirama says, and then she leans down and kisses her.

It has been weeks since the night of the ceremony, but Madara wonders how she could ever forget about the taste of Hashirama's mouth against hers, and her hands clench around the folds of the ridiculous robes the other is wearing, and she's desperately pressing back against the Senju's mouth, needing something, anything, to help keep her grounded right now.

Hashirama gasps silently against Madara's mouth as the shorter woman bites her bottom lip, drawing blood and then sucking on it, growling against the Senju's mouth. It is all Hashirama's fault, the confusion, the conflict with herself, if it weren't for the Senju and her stupid village- Madara stops herself, refusing to think any more on the matter as Hashirama's hands grip tightly at her butt, drawing her in closer as they kiss messily.

She isn't satisfied with just kissing though, not right now, she needs more, so she moves and shifts and begins nipping her way down Hashirama's jawline, down her neck to her collarbone as large hands grip at her, fingers digging into her skin and leaving bruises in their wake. Madara growls at the mass of clothes that are in her way, and she pulls back, glaring at Hashirama (and wondering when she had ended up straddling the other's lap).

“Take them off,” her voice is low, but Hashirama's eyes are blown wide with lust at their actions and Madara's tone, and she is quick to comply, struggling out of the robes until she is in the plain shirt and pants the she wears underneath. Madara glares more, and with a quick tug, Hashirama's shirt is ripped open and the tatters shoved off. And then Madara's mouth is pressed against Hashirama's chest, her nails scraping against it as she leaves bites and red marks all over the tanned skin, gently biting down on a nipple as she digs nails into the skin above Hashirama's hips, which jerk up against her own in the most pleasant of ways, and she moans against the Senju's chest, pressing her hips down against the other's, Hashirama's hands gripping them tightly as she does so. Her head tilts up enough that the brunette can see the hazy grin on Madara's flushed face, before the Uchiha grinds her hips down roughly and Hashirama chokes, her own nails drawing dots of blood from Madara's hips as she grips at them. Madara bites down on Hashirama's shoulder to muffle her moans, and drags her nails harshly up the Senju's back, getting a groan from her in response.

“Fuck,” Hashirama pants out, and Madara can feel herself grin against the Senju's neck, because causing the normally calm, and composed “God of Shinobi” will always be something that she relishes in being able to do, and the trembling hands that grip her hips encourage her to slowly lick the dots of blood and beads of sweat off of Hashirama's neck, causing her to let out a breathy moan. She does it again, and then suddenly the world is turning as Hashirama pushes her down onto her back and Madara feels the breath get knocked out of her as her back hits the wooden porch, and she finds herself staring up into Hashirama's dark eyes, before her mouth is being monopolized, and she twines her fingers through brown hair, pulling on it as she moans against Hashirama's mouth.

Madara growls when Hashirama pulls away, but then her own clothing is being quickly pulled off her body, and a hot mouth engulfs one of her small breasts and she lets out a sharp gasp as her nipple is bitten and sucked on harshly and whines when Hashirama pulls her mouth away, only to latch onto her other breast when Madara pulls harshly on her hair. She lets out an embarrassing keening noise when she feels Hashirama's fingers pressing against her centre, still covered by the cloth of her pants and her legs shift apart more of their own accord and her hips press down against them. Hashirama murmurs something against her breast, and then she feels her pants being tugged off and out of the way, and her back arches as one long finger runs against her dripping centre, barely brushing against it.

“What do you want, Madara,” Hashirama's voice is quiet and husky and Madara bites her lip hard at the words spoken, refusing to speak. This loss of control is embarrassing enough already. One finger taps against the overly sensitive bundle of nerves, and Madara can taste blood, feeling it drip down her chin.

“Ma-da-ra,” the Senju draws out the syllables of her name, and Hashirama pinches the inside of her thigh and she whines low in her throat, “Tell me what you want, I want to know that you want this too, that it isn't just me, please,” her voice is almost pleading, but still soft against Madara's chest. Madara squeezes her eyes shut, before opening them again, tugging Hashirama up by her hair gently, and pressing soft kisses against her mouth.

“Please,” she says quietly, cheeks burning, “I want _you,_ Hashirama, I want you so badly, and I don't know why, but I do, alright,” Hashirama kisses her deeply and two fingers slide into her dripping heat and she gasps and moans into the Senju's mouth.

“I love you,” she can hear Hashirama mutter against her mouth, and Madara freezes, before long fingers curl in her just slightly, and she gasps, back arching off the porch, and her mind goes blank.

“Ngh...” her hands grasp at Hashirama's hair tightly as she presses her hips down against those long fingers again.

“Shhhh,” Hashirama murmurs, kissing her again, and Madara bites her tongue, pulling hard on brown hair again as a third finger enters her and they curl and a thumb rubs circles on her bundle of nerves. She can taste blood in her mouth as she tries to muffle her moans as she clenches around Hashirama's fingers, body shaking as she hits her release.

“You're so wonderful,” Hashirama whispers against her mouth, kissing her gently as she withdraws her fingers from Madara's body. Madara untangles her fingers from brown hair, and lets her hands run down the planes of Hashirama's back as the Senju presses soft kisses against her face, lingering on the scars, before pressing more heated ones against her jaw.

“If you don't hurry up and fuck me,” Madara pants, pausing to suck in air sharply as Hashirama bites at one of her breasts again, “I am going to _stab_ you,” she mutters, and Hashirama just grins up at her.

“You're so bossy, Madara-chan,” she grins, and Madara growls and shoves at her, knocking Hashirama over.

“Shut up,” she snaps as she yanks on the Senju's pants, pulling them down and out of the way, even as Hashirama pouts and tries to draw her back up, falling silent and keeping herself half-raised on her elbows as the Uchiha impatiently finishes undressing her, freeing the Senju's length. Hashirama bites her lip, looking away from it, before her hips jerk involuntarily as she feels a hand grasp it and she looks down at Madara, cheeks burning. The Uchiha's face is burning pink as well, but she's too stubborn to back down, and she begins to move her hand, griping a bit tighter and Hashirama makes a keening noise in the back of her throat that makes Madara pause, before grinning and continuing in her motions. One hand is gripping the base of Hashirama's penis, and the other is near the head, Madara's thumb pressing against the slit, covered in precum and the Senju whines, bucking her hips up.

"Madara, please," Hashirama's voice is breathless as she reaches hands down to grip at the Uchiha's waist, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Madara bites her lip when Hashirama's nails break skin. The Uchiha bends down, kissing Hashirama messily, blood and saliva mixing as she lets go of the other's cock, moving until she is straddling Hashirama's lap, the Senju's tip just barely brushing against Madara's dripping core. Hashirama whines again, but it is quick to turn into a guttural moan as Madara sinks down onto her length.

Madara's nails scrape down Hashirama's chest as she is stretched and filled, moaning as she sinks down lower on the Senju, who's grip on her hips tightens even more. The are still for a few precious seconds, breathing hard, before Hashirama helps Madara to lift off her lap, and push back down, their hips meeting with the harsh slapping sound of skin hitting skin.

Their pace is brutal; Madara needs more and Hashirama doesn't think that she will ever be able to get enough. The Senju's hips snap up to meet the Uchiha's, and they are both letting out gasping moans as Hashirama pushes ever deeper into Madara's core. One tanned hand slides down from bony hips to slip in between them and long fingers press against and pinch at Madara's bundle of nerves and that is it for her. She lifts herself once more before dropping heavily onto Hashirama's cock, gasping out her name as her inner muscles clench around the Senju and she grinds her hips down hard as she rides out her orgasm, ripping Hashirama's release from her as she does so. Madara moan softly as she feels the Senju's fluids filling her until they drip out and run down her thighs.

Hashirama's hands are still gripping Madara's hips tightly, leaving bruises and even more bloody nail marks behind as they both pant, slowly coming down from their highs. Madara slumps against the brunette's chest, feeling far too boneless and tired right now to move off of Hashirama's lap. The Senju wraps warm arms around the Uchiha and just tucks her head under her chin in response.

"I love you," she murmurs again, pressing a soft kiss against the top of Madara's head. There is no verbal response from the smaller woman, but Hashirama feels soft lips press a gentle kiss against the pulse point in her neck, and she smiles against messy black hair.

 

The weeks pass, the time seeming to flow by faster as the village grows around them. There are stolen kisses when others aren't looking, and soft and rough touches under the cover of night, and Madara realizes idly one afternoon, hazy from the late August heat, that she is actually content with her life for the most part. It is a jarring realization, and she pauses mid-jump from a tree branch, on her way back to Konoha from the latest mission she was assigned. Luckily, there is no one there to see her stumble and nearly fall to the forest floor as she frowns at herself.

Madara is content with her life, and that thought is... scary, because now she has so much more to lose. A foreboding shiver makes it's way down her spine, but she shakes it off, shaking her head and concentrating on getting back to the village as soon as she can with the scroll she had been sent to pick up.

Her report to her Hokage is over with quickly enough, and she pauses, thoughts swirling around her mind as she stops near the doorway of Hashirama's office. It has been a hectic month for the both of them, and she knows that Izuna will be busy later this afternoon and most of the night, so she turns back to the brunette, who is watching her with a touch of confusion.

“You know, I wasn't lying about having some hair pins that would look good on you,” she says quietly, and Hashirama freezes, and looks up at Madara with unreadable eyes, biting her lip.

“I- I don't know,” she whispers.

“I have a kimono that would probably fit you too. One of my great-aunts was apparently as tall as you,” Madara offers, and she can see Hashirama wavering, wanting to, but so unsure of herself, “I'm sure that it'd look wonderful on you, it's green, and that is very much so a colour that does look good on you,” she keeps her voice light, and the sparks of hope and excitement that light up Hashirama's eyes almost make her breath catch in her throat, but she continues, “You can come over tonight once you're done here. I have some facepaints too if you'd like. We can have dinner.”

“Yes,” Hashirama breathes out, looking up at Madara with a bright smile, “yes, I'd like that, I think,” she says quietly, and Madara nods, shooting her a quick smile, and leans down to press a quick kiss to the Senju's cheek.

“I'll see you tonight then,” she murmurs, and Hashirama steals a proper kiss from her before letting the Uchiha leave. Madara runs a hand through her hair after she leaves the office, and quickly arranges her face into her normal blank look as footsteps approach. It is Tobirama, who raises an eyebrow at her.

“Your brother was looking for you earlier,” he says blandly, and she nods as he enters Hashirama's office. Madara frowns a bit, wondering what Izuna could have needed her for, but then again, she had been meant to return home from her mission earlier than she actually had, but there was no traveling during sandstorms as everyone knew. She is quick to return to the house she shares with her younger brother now though. It is on the outside edge of the section of the village that had been delegated to the Uchiha Clan. That had been the cause of an argument between her and Hashirama, due to the location of it being on the edge of the village. She frowns at the memory of it, before shaking her head slightly and entering the small house.

Izuna is seated on a tatami mat, reading over a scroll with a cup of tea by his hand, he looks up when she enters the kitchen after cleaning up and changing and putting her weapons away properly.

“Sorry for being late, there was a sandstorm on the way home that I had to wait out,” she says, sitting across from him.

“Ahh, that sucks,” he says, before sighing, “the Elders are just going to yell at you even more for it,” he mutters, and Madara feels an eyebrow rise.

“They were going off on me yesterday, the usual stuff; letting you take the position as main Head, my not having children, the fact that I stick around the village to interfere with their plotting instead of taking missions like you do,” Izuna says, lips twisting in a bitter smile as they both roll their eyes.

“Which means that I have less than twenty minutes before whichever poor kid they've roped into being their message dog comes to summon me so they can 'express their opinions' of me too,” Madara sighs, rubbing her temples as Izuna nods, and a knock sounds from outside their house. Madara sighs again, but straightens up, rubbing a hand against her scarred cheek. Izuna stands with her, rolling up his scroll.

“Have fun with the Elders, and try not to set them on fire. I'm going to be home late tonight, I have a theory about a jutsu that I'd like to pick Tobirama's brains about,” he says, and Madara shoots him a wry look.

“The fact that your very presence annoys him has nothing to do with it, huh?” she asks, and her brother grins cheekily down at her.

“Of course it doesn't, aneki,” he says, and laughs as she rolls her eyes.

“Try not to let him stab you for being annoying,” she says as he leaves, and she turns to the young boy who was the unlucky one sent to bring her to the Elders for what was undoubtedly going to be a headache inducing meeting.

Madara is right, the meeting is headache inducing within the first few minutes as she stands in front of the table that six of her Clan Elders are seated at, hands locked loosely behind her back, nails digging against her knuckles, and face impassive as they harp at her.

“ -and furthermore,” one of them is saying, “you can't even make yourself useful and get married and have children like you are supposed to,” the old man's voice is grating on Madara's nerves, but she knows from experience that it will only get worse if she speaks against them.

“You are a disgrace to this clan and the Uchiha name. Why Hokage-sama even tolerates you as he does is a mystery,” one of the two female Elders sniffs in disdain.

“Well once he's married he won't be so relenting. His wife won't allow him to have any relations with a no-good slut like you,” the other one sneers and it is nothing that Madara hasn't heard since the founding of the village.

“You may leave now, Madara,” the old man at the centre of the table speaks then, dismissing her with cold grey eyes. Daiki Uchiha is the one who directs the opinions of the other Elders, and has always disapproved of her. She bows, palms flat against the sides of her thighs, but keeps her face level, eyes boring into his as she straightens, and turns.

“Stupid whore. Should have made Tajima drown her at birth like you wanted, Yuuka,” she hears them say behind her back, a haughty sniff echoes around the room.

“The chit's mother was a good for nothing bitch too. It's better that the slut doesn't breed. Bad blood will out,” and Madara's hands clench into tight fists and she quickly returns to her own home, with it's private training grounds in order to beat out some of her pent up anger. She can take the Elders insulting her, it is nothing new, they have been doing so since it became apparent that Madara wasn't going to be one to sit around and do nothing as was expected of her, but she hates when they blame her mother for it, her mother who actually cared for her, and brought her and her brothers so much happiness as children, before being ripped away from them because the Elders demanded that she keep having children regardless of the healers warnings.

It takes an hour and her knuckles are bloody by the time Madara feels calm enough to go inside without breaking everything she can grab and throw. She is quick to clean up though, because Hashirama will likely be there soon, and the thought of that soothes her temper some. She carefully pulls out the light green kimono and its accessories from the plain box she kept stacked in a storage room, remembering the great-aunt they had belonged to faintly; the woman had been a spinster, and had helped Madara sneak out to train when she had been young, before the older woman had died. It wouldn't have long to air out, but it is better than no time at all, and Madara heads downstairs to get started on food (because at least she could cook, although not as well as Izuna could).

Hashirama arrives just as it is finishing, and they sit down to eat, talking idly about the going's on in the village, the latest clans to join it, the budding shinobi academy, complaining lightly about their respective clan Elders and younger brothers, discussing the other villages that are rumoured, and some confirmed, to be popping up all over the Elemental Nations. The finish eating and Madara cleans up, before ignoring Hashirama's nervousness, leading the other woman to the room where she has the kimono airing out, and proceeds to carefully help the Senju change into it.

Madara was right, the soft green of it does look wonderful on Hashirama, and the soft look of awe on the brunette's face just makes it look even better as she watches the taller woman look over herself.

“Come on,” she murmurs, scooping up two boxes she had dug out earlier along with the kimono, “let's go out back, there's more light there. I'll do your hair,” her voice is quiet, and Hashirama looks up at her with wide eyes, but Madara has already left the room, so the Senju swallows, and nervously follows her outside, looking around the large backyard of the Uchiha's house cautiously.

"Sit," Madara commands the taller woman, who's nervously looking around the backyard of the Uchiha's small house. She rolls her eyes.  
"Nobody but Izuna and I are here usually, and you know that he's busy bothering Tobirama tonight," she reassures the brunette who finally sits down on the edge of the small porch, folding her legs underneath her carefully. Madara watches her, before kneeling carefully behind her, picking up strands of fine brown hair, and a tortoiseshell comb that she had inherited from her mother. Gently, she begins to card the comb through Hashirama's hair, feeling the taller slowly relax at the repetitive motion.

“Why don't you ever seem to brush your own hair?” she asks after a few minutes, Madara snorts.

“Good luck trying to get any kind of comb through my hair when it's not freshly washed. Hell, try _washing_ it in the first place,” she mutters, used to hating the thick, unmanageable hair that she had inherited from her father, keeping it long only in memory of the mother who had actually cared for her as a person, and not just another tool to be used.

“Alright, I will, I'll wash it and comb it for you tomorrow,” Hashirama says brightly, and Madara pauses in her combing to look at her incredulously.

“I-” wasn't being serious, she meant to say, but honestly, the idea sounded kind of appealing. She _hated_ washing her own hair, usually had to make Izuna help her with it, so she bit her lip.

“Er, okay, if you want to I guess,” she mutters, going back to combing all of the knots out of the Senju's hair, deciding it was easier to focus on that than to think about what she had said. Hashirama giggles, and while there's still a slight nervous tinge to it, she has relaxed for the most part, and is then happy enough to fill the silence with idle talk about the village, and what's been going on, and asking for Madara's opinion on this, and that, and that other thing as well, as she combs through her hair, and then begins twisting it up into intricate knots. Hashirama falls silent, before giving into her curiosity.

“Where did you learn to do this?” she asks, keeping her head very still as Madara works.

“My mother,” she answers quietly, after pausing briefly, “she taught me how to style hair when I was little, and then when I was bit older and had cut off most of my hair at the time, she taught me how to use facepaints,” Madara's lips quirk up a little at the edges, “She let me practice both on Izuna.”

Hashirama laughs quietly at the mental image of a young Izuna, with his hair and face done up by a young Madara.

“Yeah, he didn't mind the hair so much once I stopped pulling on his so much and accidentally stabbing him with the ends of the kanzashi, but he never liked the facepaints,” she says quietly.

“I can imagine, I'm surprised that your father allowed that,” Hashirama says, Madara shrugs.

“He reasoned that if Izuna couldn't escape the rope I had tied him down with, then he deserved to get his face painted,” she says, and Hashirama can hear the grin in her voice, and she laughs again.

“Makes sense,” the brunette murmurs, and Madara hums lightly, her small hands making quick work of Hashirama's hair now, twisting it up into small, intricate knots, and grabbing some of the plain hairpins from the pile beside her knee to push into Hashirama's hair in order to keep it in place. Eventually all of her brown hair is pinned up, and Madara leans down, opening one of the small, delicate boxes she had brought out with her. This one, from what Hashirama can see, is full of kanzashi, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of the beautiful hair ornaments that she had spent most of her life admiring, never able to wear them.

Madara frowns down at the box a bit, before pulling out a pair of kanzashi and showing them to Hashirama.

“They're maple leaves,” she murmurs, setting one of them in her friend's tanned hand to let her see. They are indeed maple leaves, green ones, to match the plain kimono she was wearing obviously, a small trio of leaves, done in a light green fabric, darker at the edges, and lightening to white at the centre, where dark green beads are sewn in, with two trailing strands of tiny swatches of even lighter green fabric overlapping until they end with a small silver bell on each strand. They are beautiful, and Hashirama loves them. She looks up at Madara again, speechless. The Uchiha smiles softly at her.

“They were one of my mother's favourite pairs,” she says quietly, “She loved wearing them at the beginning of spring, when all of the trees of Fire Country were just starting to put out buds, and everything was beginning to turn green again, and at the very end of the summer, when she always said that the green was the brightest, right before changing colours for the autumn.”

“They're beautiful,” Hashirama says honestly, and Madara nods, gently taking the one back from her, getting the Senju to turn her head around again so she can position them properly on either side of her head, handing Hashirama a small hand mirror, before stepping back.

Hashirama has to bite her lip to stop from crying as she carefully turns her head from side to side, watching as the kanzashi move with her. She looks up at Madara, who is fiddling with the other box she had carried out. The Uchiha looks up at her, biting her own lip, before speaking.

“I- I have facepaints too, if you want I could...?” she trails off, leaving the offer hanging without actually saying anything, and Hashirama doesn't even think before she nods, breathless at the idea, and she watches Madara grin quickly at her.

“It might not be very good, I haven't used these in years, and even then it was mostly on Izuna that I did use them,” she snickers and Hashirama giggles too.

“It's alright, I'm sure that whatever you do will be fine,” she says quietly, and watches as Madara's cheeks flush, before the Uchiha clears her throat and kneels in front of her, opening the carved box.

“I'm not going to powder your skin, I don't have much with me, and it would just look weird on you, plus your skin is clear enough to go without it,” she says quietly, pulling out a thin, reed-tipped brush and swiping it through some kind of dark powder, before bringing it up and leaning in. Madara can feel Hashirama's eyelashes flutter against her wrist as she dabs the dark powder against her eyebrows, filling them in and neatening their lines just slightly. She taps the extra powder off of the brush and onto the ground off the porch. She sets that brush back down in its case and picks up another one, this one, Hashirama thinks, looks like a very tiny comb, which Madara drags across a black block of some kind until she deems enough of the substance has coated the brush.

“I need you to look up for this. I'm going to set this brush against the base of your eyelashes, and you need to blink when I tell you to, alright?” she says quietly, bringing the brush up to Hashirama's face.

“Alright,” she murmurs, tilting her head back so Madara can apply the powder, which is thicker than the other one she had used, to her eyelashes, darkening them. She repeats her actions with Hashirama's other eye, before back up again, putting that brush away.

Madara then dips the pads of her right index and middle fingers against the top of a pot of reddish creme, swirling them against it gently, before pulling them away. Hashirama is entranced by the sight of Madara doing something so feminine as applying makeup, even if it is not to herself, the fact that she is still doing it, and doing it well, is something Hashirama never thought she would see. She sits very still as Madara rubs her fingers against the apple of her cheek, right underneath the bone, before dragging them upwards, almost to her temple, smearing the creme until it dusts Hashirama's cheek a light pink, highlighting her sharp cheekbone. Madara dips her fingers back into the pot to repeat the process with the other cheek until they match. There is a small cloth in the box that Madara uses to wipe her fingers clean, before she pulls another thin reed brush from the box, along with a tiny pot, carefully unscrewing the lid of it.

“Bite your lips a little,” she tells Hashirama, not looking up at her as she swirls the brush through the thick red liquid in the pot. Hashirama bites at her lips, causing them to swell just a little, until Madara tells her to stop, leaning in once more and Hashirama's eyes flutter closed of their own accord as the brush touches against her lower lip, gently swiping across it, filling it in with the red lip paint. Madara pulls away to recoat the brush in the paint, leaning in to carefully outline and fill in Hashirama's top lip as well.

“Don't move your mouth until it's dry,” she says, and Hashirama makes herself go very still, her lips slightly parted as Madara cleans off the brush, and closes the pot, tucking it back into it's place in the box, before settling the lid on it once more.

Carefully, Madara leans in once more, pressing the pad of her thumb gently against Hashirama's lower lip, and she gulps quietly, before Madara pulls away, looking at her thumb.

“Alright, you're good to move your mouth, the paint is dry,” she says, and then hands Hashirama the mirror again, and she looks, and freezes.

The woman looking back at her is beautiful. Her hair is neatly pinned up, with delicate kanzashi decorating it, and her facepaint might be simple but it looks good on her, and Hashirama has to raise a hand to her cheek and touch it in order to make sure that it is actually her that she is looking at. Her eyes are overbright and she can feel her throat closing up as she looks up at Madara, who is grinning crookedly at her.

“Madara, I...” she doesn't know what to say, she can't think of any words that would get across to the other just _how much_ this meant to her.

“You look beautiful,” Madara says quietly, and Hashirama's lips are trembling, but she is smiling, and Madara means her words as one pale hand moves up to cup a tanned cheek.

“You _are_ beautiful,” the Uchiha murmurs, and kisses her softly. Hashirama's fingers thread through Madara's thick mane of hair, tugging the Uchiha closer, realizing that she's probably ruined her lip paint, but she is uncaring in this moment, because she has Madara with her, wonderful beautiful Madara, who despite all of her sharp edges and steel muscles, is without a doubt the most caring person Hashirama has ever met. Madara, who is lovely, and has never questioned Hashirama's awkwardness in her own body despite not understanding, and who has accepted her so fully, and she never wants to lose this woman, Hashirama realizes. She thinks that losing Madara would be akin to losing the sun, and she can't even begin to imagine a life without her anymore.

 

They wake in Madara's bed, the morning sun shining down on both of their naked bodies, and Hashirama whines, and nuzzles her face against Madara's breasts, hiding her face from the world and the invading sunlight as the Uchiha throws an arm over her eyes, sighing.

“ 's too early to be up,” the Senju mumbles, breath tickling Madara's chest as she speaks, and the Uchiha just sighs again, raising both of her arms above her head, back arching even with the weight of Hashirama's head on her, and tanned arms wrapped tightly around her waist, as she stretches.

“You have to get up though, you have duties to attend to, and you have to go home and change before you can go to work,” Madara says quietly, and feels Hashirama frown against her skin, before she tilts her head up just enough for their eyes to meet. There is a mischievous glint in the Senju's brown eyes, and it makes Madara wary.

“You know, you should just move in with me,” she says, and Madara splutters, cheeks burning as her eyes go wide, “that'd make things easier for both of us, and we could have a bunch of children running around eventually, yeah? We wouldn't even have to get married, since you don't want to,” her voice is cheeky, but there is a very serious look in those brown eyes and Madara stares at her with a bit of shock. She blinks a few times, trying to formulate a response, before Hashirama leans up and kisses her softly.

“Think about it, okay,” she murmurs against Madara's lips, nipping the bottom one gently, before kissing her again and pulling away with a grin, “I should probably get going now, see you later,” she practically chirps, before rolling out of the futon, and pulling on the clothes she had arrived in yesterday, and leaving out the back of the house in order to avoid waking Izuna. Madara stares after her, before closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, shaking her head a bit before getting up herself. Today is a day off, and she means to spend it running through katas, cleaning her weapons, and getting out with her falcons for a bit. She pauses as a wave of nausea overwhelms her as she sits up. She frowns, before blanching, throwing her blankets off and scrambling for the bathroom where she vomits. Madara frowns further after she cleans up, but is quick to brush the incident from her mind, she has more important things to do than to dwell over a moment of sickness.

She manages her first two tasks before noon, and greets her brother (who apparently had a _very_ late night, since he only just now appears to be stumbling out of his room) during lunch, before she gathers her things to head out to the Uchiha Clan Mews, where her falcons and hawks resided. And that was when the messenger arrived, out of breath from running through the beginning to twist streets of the village all the way out to their house. Madara raises an eyebrow at the young boy, wearing the headband she and Hashirama had designed, and the vest that designated him as a chunin.

“Hokage-sama has requested that both of you come to the tower immediately,” he says as he straightens up, and Madara frowns.

“Did he say why?” Izuna asks sharply, coming up behind her, making her twitch slightly.

“The delegation from the Uzumaki clan from Uzushiogakure has finally arrived.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how many people are actually reading this tbh.  
> Anyways, there's a couple of [scrapped scenes from Part V that I've posted here on my tumblr](http://thefairyprincev.tumblr.com/post/120881952073/getting-ready-to-post-part-iv-of-complications) if you want to see them.  
> As always, thanks for reading!!!  
> Extra thanks to those who have left kudos, and even more thanks to those who have left comments!!!


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As with all things, there is always a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently only a couple hundred words away from being complete, so expect Part VI later this week!

Part V

* * *

The Uzumaki woman is beautiful, and Madara's breath catches in her throat as she looks at her upon arriving in Hashirama's office with Izuna to join the other Clan Heads who have gathered to greet the Uzumaki delegation. She is all blood-red hair, soft skin, softer smiles, and pretty fluttering kimono. The male Clan Heads are all polite smiles and roving eyes as they look at the woman the Senju have been trying to engage Hashirama to for years now, and even Hashirama's eyes have been drawn to her a few times already. She is all that Madara can never be, and she digs her nails into her palms as the other Clan Heads are introduced to the delegation, stepping back and letting Izuna be the Uchiha to greet them. She does not want to watch everyone falling over themselves to greet their guests. Instead, she whirls around, and knowing she is unneeded in the meeting room, she stalks off silently to the empty Hokage's office; she might as well get Hashirama caught up on the paperwork she is constantly neglecting when she isn't pushing it off onto Madara or Tobirama, while she is busy entertaining.

Tobirama is the one to find her there a few hours later, just as she is finishing with the last few pages.

“Shouldn't you be with the other Clan Heads and the Uzu delegation?” the white-haired Senju asks her as he enters the office. She shrugs.

“Izuna's there. He's better at that stuff than I am. I'm too rude,” her lips twist faintly in bitterness, before dropping again, “I figured that I'd keep Hashirama from falling too behind on paperwork,” she mutters. He eyes her, but relents and drops the large stack of papers he is carrying on the previously clear desk.

“You should leave this for him, he needs to get used to doing his own paperwork someday. You won't always be here for him,” the Senju mutters. She shrugs again, ignoring his suggestion as she pulls the first paper off the top. Tobirama stares at her for a few minutes longer, before muttering something about obstinate Uchiha's and stupid older brothers, before leaving.

It is dark before she leaves the office, a headache building behind her eyes as she walks into her house. Izuna is still up, flipping through some papers as a cup of tea cools by his hand.

“You missed a lovely tour of the village conducted by our esteemed Hokage. His shins are probably resembling eggplants right now with how many times Tobirama kicked him while he was talking to Uzumaki-sama and his daughter,” he says lightly, and she doesn't even bother to respond to him as she snorts dryly and heads to her room, throwing herself onto her futon without much thought. She winces slightly at the action and frowns rubbing at her suddenly sore chest, rolling onto her back with a sigh, before freezing. She clamps a hand over her mouth, and barely makes it to the bathroom before the scant dinner she had eaten earlier makes it's way out of her stomach. She is bent over, still coughing and dry heaving when Izuna shows up, a worried frown on his face.

“Are you okay, aneki?” he asks, kneeling beside her as she wipes her mouth, handing her a glass of water that she uses to rinse out her mouth with.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine 'Zu, don't worry,” she mutters, leaning back in a crouch slightly. He keeps frowning at her.

“I heard you being sick this morning too. Are you _sure_ that you're alright?” he asks, and she sighs, rubbing her temples.

“I'm _fine_ , Izuna,” she says, a bit sharper than intended, and winces, “honestly, I just have a headache and must have eaten something that disagreed with me,” she says softer, and her brother helps her to stand up again.

“If you're sure...” he trails off, and she nods, shrugging his hands off of her and taking a small step away from him.

“I am. I'm just going to go to bed, okay?” she says, and he nods. She can still feel him frowning at her back as she returns to her room, stripping down to her loose pants and chest bindings to sleep in. Madara waits for sleep to claim her, and growls as it doesn't, turning onto her side, and scowling as that messes up her chest bindings, wincing as they tug at her breasts, which are more tender than usual. She sits up, yanking the bindings off, and grabbing a loose shirt to wear to bed instead, sighing as she settles down again, pulling her blankets up to her chin and curling up like a cat to sleep.

 

“The Uzumaki's will be in the village for the next few months,” Hashirama is talking as Madara stands in front of her desk with Izuna and Tobirama and the rest of the Clan Heads the next day, “and I'm going to be busy as the go-between for them and my clan, so it has been decided that Tobirama will act as a Hokage in all but name while I am preoccupied,” she is saying, and Madara can feel her hands clench tightly, before she forces herself to relax, keeping her face blank and passive. No one wanted her as Hokage, so of course she wouldn't even be considered to step in when Hashirama was busy, regardless of the fact that she does nearly half the damn work. It has been nearly six months since they had built this village together, and she still isn't trusted. It is enough to make her want to scream.

She gives Hashirama a stiff, shallow bow when she dismisses the gathered Clan Heads, and turns on her heel, intending to head to the clan mews, since she hadn't managed to make it out there the previous day.

“Madara,” Hashirama's voice makes her stop, and turn around, keeping her face blank as everyone else filters out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. Hashirama has an apologetic look on her face, and Madara wants nothing more than to wipe it off right now.

“Hokage-sama,” she responds instead, keeping her voice even. Hashirama frowns.

“Madara, I'm sorry about-” Madara cuts her off. She just can't deal with this, not right now, not today.

“I'm sorry Hokage-sama, but if what you have to say is not actually relevant, then I am going to take my leave,” she says, voice going flat. She bows again, and strides out of the room, ignoring Hashirama's protests, and her brother, who had waited outside of the office for her, walking past him, intent on going the one place everyone would leave her alone for a few hours.

The Uchiha Clan Mews is a smallish building not far from Madara's own house, also on the outskirts of both the Clan Compound and the village. Only about twelve people come here on a regular basis, Madara being one of them. She walks past the rows of birds, shifting on their perches as they hear someone going through the dark room, but Madara has no patience for the smaller peregrine falcons, merlins, or even the eagles. No, she stalks down to the very end of the mews, where her pride and joy stands, watching everything that goes on around her with sharp red eyes.

Shun, a northern goshawk that Madara had found not long after she had hatched, a solitary chick in an empty, mostly destroyed, nest, is a vicious brute to anyone but the Uchiha woman, who is now approaching her. Red eyes stare at the dark haired woman as she slips on the thick leather glove she wears to handle Shun, picking up a pair of flying jesses for the goshawk, and a pair of small silver bells. Shun has never needed a hood; she is imprinted on Madara after all, and according to most, much too attached to the woman. She ties the metal plate over her arm, extending from wrist to elbow, before turning back to her bird, crooning at it softly. Shun shuffles her feet as Madara steps closer, and gently slips the bells on the large hawk's left foot, before tying the flying jesses tightly above the mews jesses, which she then unties, coaxing Shun onto her forearm. The black and white bird shuffles onto her arm and Madara clenches her fist as she takes the weight of the bird, who chirps at her as Madara carries her outside, talking quietly to her all the while.

There is a large field behind the mews, meant just for flying the birds as exercise, or for training new ones, and Shun happily takes flight once they are out in the sun, wings flapping lazily as she flies around, and Madara is more than content to stand and watch, wishing that she had the freedom to just fly away from everything as Shun did. Then she wouldn't have to worry about clans, or Hokages, or fighting, or living, or clan Elders constantly berating her, or brothers, or having stupid feelings for a dense idiot, or anything. With a start she realizes that her Sharingan has activated and her nails are digging into the palm of her right hand, and she can feel them through the long glove on her left. She takes a deep breath, her eyes going dark again as she raises her left arm for Shun to land on as the bird chatters at her. Madara grins softly, at least she knows how to placate Shun with ease, and she pulls a strip of dried jerky from a pocket, warming it in her hand briefly, before letting the bird have it, crooning at her again and running her hand over soft feathers, clearing out a bit of dander as she does so.

“At least you only shout at me when you want food,” she murmurs, and Shun chirps at her, head tilting to the side, and she smiles as the bird hops off her arm again, flying high to circle above the the Uchiha Compound, and Madara settles onto the ground, leaning back against a post as she watches the hawk fly above.

 

The rest of the week passes in much the same fashion, and Madara can admit to herself that yes, she is actively avoiding Hashirama right now, but it's not like it's hard when the Senju is barely around anyways. The Clan Elders however, are almost constantly around, and more than happy to harp at her for this and that and everything, commenting on how she is such a disappointment, so useless, so unwanted, and it does nothing to help her mood. The sickness of the previous week had yet to abate after all, and Madara figures that the fatigue has to relate to it somehow, since it has only gotten worse.

“You should go see a healer,” Izuna says after finding her hunched over in the bathroom after lunch the following Thursday, and she scowls at him.

“I'm fine, Izuna, alright, so stop worrying,” her words are sharp and her brother frowns, but concedes. Madara is too stubborn, and he does not have the patience to argue with her and shut down her disagreements; only Hashirama seems capable of that.

The next week dawns much the same as the previous, with Madara hunched over and vomiting after waking, before cleaning and dressing and slipping out to the mews just as dawn breaks, intent on avoiding her brother for the morning at least, as she carries Shun out of the building. She has been spending more and more time on her own out by the mews; not even Izuna bothers her here after all (granted, her younger brother is more than a little bit terrified of Shun, so that might have something to do with his reluctance to show up at the mews), and she welcomes the time alone after the past hectic months, or at least that's what she tells herself. This week at least, is quiet, the Elders having turned their attention back to Izuna for the time being as Madara takes a small mission to a nearby village to take care of a bandit problem, returning on Saturday.

The mission got messy and Madara is forced to wash her hair after returning home, and she growls the entire time she rubs soap through it, running a wide-toothed comb through the wet strands as she sits on the stool in the bathroom, working through the build up of tangles, dirt, and blood, before she rinses the suds out and ties it all up out of the way in order to go soak in the bath, letting out a long sigh as she sits in the warm water. She _hates_ having to wash her hair, and it never fails to make her grumpy, so she gladly lets her eyes slide shut as her body slowly relaxes.

Monday dawns bright and early as Madara rolls out of bed to go and vomit, which has in itself, become part of her morning routine somehow within the past weeks that it has been occurring. At least, she thinks with grim humour, she hadn't gotten any vomit in her clean hair. She is able to run a comb through the thick black mass that morning, and it looks much neater than it has in months as she dresses and eats a quick breakfast. She means to get to the missions office before anyone else bothers, to pick up a mission that will get her out of the village for more than a few days, one that will preferably get her out of the country too. She needs to get away for a bit, it is becoming too stifling here.

It is early enough that not many people are awake, let alone out of their houses yet, so Madara takes the time to walk through the village streets, and proceeds to run into Hashirama for the first time in over a week, as the brunette escorts Mito Uzumaki around the village. Madara freezes in her steps, and tries to find an alternative way to go before the Senju sees her, and she has already turned around going in another direction, when her name is called and she has to refrain from flinching as she turns back around slowly, face impassively blank as she sees Hashirama grin widely at her, taking a few long strides until she is standing in front of her, Mito following at her side, a polite smile on the red-head's face.

“Madara! How are you? I haven't seen you in ages,” Hashirama pouts and Madara bites the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes, instead crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at the taller.

“I've been busy. Missions and whatnot you know,” she keeps her voice bland and Hashirama's pout deepens, before she straightens up with a grin, a glint in her brown eyes.

“You've been too busy, I don't believe that you've met Mito-san here at all yet,” Hashirama says, and Madara's hands clench, nails digging into her palms even through her gloves. Her face remains blank.

“You're right, I have yet to meet Uzumaki-san,” she says, before turning to the other woman, offering her a small bow.

“My apologies for not greeting you properly, I have been kept busy out of the village on missions, I am Madara Uchiha,” she says after straightening up, Mito offers her a small bow as well, her polite smile never wavering.

“It is an honour to meet someone as renown as you are, Uchiha-sama,” her voice is quiet, but not soft, and Madara's lips twitch down almost unnoticeably.

“Hn,” the Uzumaki's words don't require a response, so she turns back to Hashirama, “If you'll excuse me now, Hokage-sama, I'd like to get to the missions office.”

Hashirama frowns, and turns to Mito briefly offering her a bright smile, “Mito-san, are you able to find your way back to the compound? There are some things that I think I need to discuss with Madara.” Mito nods, and steps away from them.

“Of course, Hashirama-san, I am capable of finding my way back on my own,” she offers Madara another bow, her lips twitching in a way that makes Madara's eyes narrow slightly, “Again, it was an honour to meet you,” she murmurs, and Madara barely inclines her head before the Uzumaki turns and leaves. Hashirama then grabs Madara's arm, and proceeds to drag her into an unoccupied alleyway, frowning down at her. Madara scowls back up in response, shaking off the hand holding onto her upper arm.

“What,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the Senju who is still frowning.

“You could've been a bit nicer,” she says, and Madara snorts.

“You of all people should know by now, that I don't do _nice_ ,” she bites out, Hashirama's frown deepens, and Madara can see the stress lines framing her mouth and eyes.

“Well maybe you should try it sometime, people are a lot more accepting of niceness than rudeness,” she says, and Madara snorts.

“So what, you want me to play all nice and buddy-buddy with everyone now? No thanks, I'd rather cut my own tongue out,” her voice is dry, and suddenly all the anger and frustration she has been keeping bottled up at everything is bubbling up, nearly swamping her. Hashirama is nice by nature, and doesn't know what it is like, to have her every action criticized as being too weak, too feminine, she doesn't know what it is like, to not be _allowed_ to be nice, to anyone. And even now, though she is living in peace, Madara's edges are too jagged from being cut at from all sides for the entirety of her soon to be twenty-one years; they will never be able to soften as Hashirama's are. She grits her teeth.

“If all you're going to do is chastise me, _Hokage-sama_ ,” she says the title mockingly, “than I have better things to do than listen to you,” her words are sharper than she intended, but she means them. She will not stand and be scolded like a child by her... friend? Lover? Partner? She doesn't even know anymore. (She doesn't even know what she is to the other, not now, not anymore.)

“Madara stop it,” Hashirama snaps, now frowning back at her, “I am not chastising you, all I'm saying is that you could have tried to be a bit nicer to Mito, she hasn't done anything to you and there is no need for such hostility towards someone who's part of a clan that the village is allied with,” the brunette pauses with confusion entering her frown as Madara lets out a bark of bitter laughter. It is too much. Her current near-constant sickness and fatigue have only added to her irritability, and the fact that she is going to lose Hashirama soon upsets her, but she has never been allowed to be upset, only angry, so she gets angry, because that is all she knows how to do.

“Oh, so it's not alright for me to _be hostile_ while meeting some stranger I never wanted to meet in the first place because her clan is allied with the village, but it's alright for everyone to eye _me_ behind my back with hostility, and make no secret of their opinions that it would have been better off if Tobirama had killed me all those months ago, even though _my_ clan helped _build_ this fucking place?” she snaps, eyes bleeding red and Hashirama rears back as if slapped, blinking at her in shock.

“I- I hadn't realized,” she whispers, and Madara laughs again. The words are spilling out now, her voice harsh as she speaks, unable to stop herself.

“Of course not, it's not like anyone will say anything near _you_. Everybody _loves_ you. You're their saviour, the peace-bringer, the _God of Shinobi_ , who's going to marry the princess and have a horde of screaming brats for the village to dote on, because that is _exactly_ what is expected of you, and you always, _always_ , have to live up to others expectations of you, regardless of what _you_ want for yourself,” she snarls, “That much is certain, just like how it's certain _I_ am going to end up dead on a mission in the middle of nowhere, body raped and eyes stolen, and no one's even going to care. That's just how the world works,” her words are sharp, and her voice is hoarse and Madara realizes that her eyes are stinging and that just makes her even angrier. How _dare_ Hashirama make her show weakness like this. It is worse than the moments they had been stealing together only weeks ago. It is shameful. Her hands curl into fists and her chin jerks up, she steps back as Hashirama tries to reach out for her, shaking her head.

“Don't _touch_ me,” she hisses, and Hashirama freezes, her brown eyes full of emotions Madara cannot name as the Uchiha backs up more.

“I'm leaving now, Hokage-sama,” her words are stiff now, “You should probably get back to your future wife,” she turns, and walks away. She needs to get out of there, out of the village, out of the country, and she grabs the first S-ranked mission she sees, reading over the details quickly before filling out the application to complete it, tossing it at the shinobi working the missions desk that morning, before heading to her house to pack for the nine day mission to the budding village in Earth Country.

She is relieving herself a final time before leaving, and frowns when she notices splotches of blood on her pants, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over her cramping lower abdomen. She makes a note to pick up the cloth pads she uses during her menstrual cycle, noting that it must be starting late, before pushing it from her mind. The fact that it has been several weeks since her last cycle slips her mind as she leaves the village, running swiftly through the trees and not looking back once as she heads out.

 

Iwagakure, she thinks as she looks around the small, cobbled together village, is nothing but rocks and dirt and a few people too stubborn to realize that their land is too inhospitable to nourish a village. They are proud though, and some of them are quite talented, Madara will give them that, but they have nothing on Konoha, which she repeatedly tells herself she does not miss. Although, she thinks, upper lip curling back, anything is better than getting rock dirt in her lungs. Hell, she'd happily take Wind Country's deserts over _this_.

At least the “Tsuchikage” is happy enough to agree to the terms of an alliance that are in the scroll Tobirama sent her with. The fact that he agrees so readily however, is solely due to the fact that it is Madara Uchiha whom he is dealing with, and when she gives a polite smile with far too many teeth bared, and her eyes only just glinting red when he requests time for he and his advisers to look over the terms, she can visibly see him shudder before retreating. The reputation of the demon-lady is one that is far-flung and widespread after all.

Her escort around the village is both terrified and in awe of her, and Madara wants to snap at the boy to make up his mind whether he's going to ogle her or try to hide from her, but she refrains; her temper has gotten the best of her too much as of late, and it is obvious to everyone.

“I'm surprised that the Hokage let you out of the village in your condition,” the boy says, attempting to be conversational as he leads her through the narrow, winding streets.

“Excuse me?” Madara growls out, eyebrows furrowing, and the boy throws his hands up, stumbling backwards a little.

“W-Well it's just that I know the Tsuchikage dislikes letting his partner leave the village for an extended period of time on a normal basis, much less when she's uh...” he trails off, mumbling something that Madara cannot and does not, want to hear. She snorts.

“Whatever, kid, you've been listening to too many rumours,” she mutters, and watches as he flushes with embarrassment. He stammers something else, but Madara isn't listening, too busy biting back another wave of nausea.

It is the final full week of September that Madara begins to make her way back to Konoha, scroll agreeing to the alliance secured tightly in her pack as she travels through Earth Country and across the border to Grass Country, and then finally back into Fire Country. She hands her report in to Tobirama when she returns to the village on the twenty-third of the month, before heading home. Her hair is in need of a proper wash again and the thought makes her scowl. With luck though, she should be able to catch her brother at home and make him help her with it. _Stupid rocks_ , she mutters mentally.

 

There are few small missions the next few days, mostly collecting reports form outposts, but Madara is fine with doing anything that keeps her out of the village, and more importantly, away from the Clan Elders, at this point in time. They managed to corner her a mere six days after she had returned.

“Madara,” Daiki is saying, looking down his nose at her as she bites back a growl, “you have not been answering to our summonses,” he says, disapproval etched on his cold face as he stares at her. The other gathered Elders flock around him.

“I apologize, Elder-sama, but I have been kept busy with missions as of late,” she grinds out, and one of the Elders sniffs.

“That is no excuse girl, you are supposed to answer Daiki-sama as soon as you are summoned,” Yuuka Uchiha huffs, sipping at her tea as cold black eyes narrow at Madara. Madara remains silent. The Elders grumble.

“Regardless of your disrespect, we are generous enough to forget such a small matter as we instead turn to address a much larger issue,” Daiki says, leaning forwards, elbows on the table in front of him, and chin on his hands.

“It is far past time for you to be married, Madara, and since you have refused all offers from other clans, it is only fit that you marry within the clan, and within the year,” his voice is cold and chills Madara to the core. She freezes.

“ _Excuse_ me?” she asks slowly, her eyes narrowing.

“You should have been married once your father died and your brother became Head of the Clan. We have allowed you to play at being co-Head for long enough and have seen fit to arrange a marriage for you, with your cousin, Yuudai,” he says, and Madara can't help the look of disgust that crosses her face. Yuudai had been, in short order, a bully when they were younger, and a brute now that they were older. He was a mediocre shinobi, and far too full of himself, and a complete and utter pig to women every time she had heard him talk about them. He might be an Uchiha, but she would be more than happy to rid the world of him if it came down to it. It won't though, she knows this and her gloves creak as her hands tighten into fists.

Madara straightens her back, raising her chin and letting her eyes bleed red. The Elders have always toed the line, but this is going to far. They have crossed the line now, and she is done playing by their rules. It is high time that she stops bending to the whims of dried up old crones, who's time has long since passed. She has never been one for pretty politics after all, that she leaves to Izuna.

“So sorry to disappoint,” she snaps, watching with glee as even the meddlesome old man directly in front of her flinches away from her eyes, whirling with the mixed symbols of hers and Izuna's Mangekyo, “but I won't be marrying _anyone_ , especially not that half-wit, waste of space Yuudai,” she snarls, and watches as Daiki glares back at her.

“Yes, you _will_ ,” he snaps, “we have humoured you and your delusions of being a shinobi for long enough, and it is high time that you do your duty and bear children and stop playing around,” his words are harsh, but Madara is no longer listening.

“One more word,” her voice is deadly soft, “and the Uchiha Clan will find itself lacking in _any_ Clan Elders, and I can assure you, that they will _not_ be missed,” they all freeze.

“I am _your_ Clan Head. _You_ listen to _me_ , and follow _me_ ,” her words are hard as she stares them down, “It is not the other way around, and if you do not wisen up and realize that you have _no_ say in what I, as Head of this Clan, do, then I will take matters into my own hands. Your purpose is to _guide_ the younger generations, _not_ to control every little thing that they do and try to dictate what happens to the Clan long after your prime has passed.”

“And what do you know?” Daiki sneers at her, and opens his mouth to say something else berating no doubt, but Madara gives a bloodthirsty grin that chills the Elders to their cores, and whispers; “ _Tsukiyomi_ ,” before he can get another word out. She has had enough of him, of all of them, and she is no longer playing around. It is time that they realized this.

Three seconds later, and Daiki is gasping, ashen-faced and shaking, a hand clapped over his mouth. Madara smiles sweetly at him. He falls backwards out of his seat, and frantically tries to put more space between them. Madara's grin darkens as she watches him scramble and stumble.

“Are we in agreement then?” she asks, and he nods frantically. Her grin widens, teeth gleaming in the light, “Wonderful,” she drawls, and sweeps out of the room. At least they shouldn't bother her again.

 

The morning of October fifth dawns grey and damp, and Madara is once more hunched over in the bathroom, vomiting up stomach acid and the remains of the previous night's dinner. It is later than she normally gets up, she realizes, and that fact makes her frown as she washes her face and unties her hair, throwing on some loose clothing before heading towards the kitchen. She stops in the doorway though, both of her eyebrows rising as she sees not only her brother, but Tobirama Senju, sitting at the table, bickering over a pile of scrolls. Both of them pause in their argument as Madara enters the room.

“Don't feel the need to stop on my account,” she says dryly, watching them both frown as she pokes through the food choices available to her. She's barely able to stop herself from making faces at most of it, finding even just the sight of the majority of it causes a sharp wave of nausea to roll through her.

“You look _terrible,_ aneki,” Izuna says bluntly and she shoots him a dark look.

“Gee, thanks, you look absolutely _stunning_ yourself first thing in the morning,” she responds flatly and Tobirama snorts.

“Your brother is right, are you sick?” the Senju asks and she barely holds herself back from making a rude gesture towards him as she decides to forego breakfast, no longer hungry as she turns to face the two frowning seventeen year olds.

“I'm _fine,_ alright,” she snaps and two pairs of eyebrows rise at her.

“Aneki,” Izuna's voice is full of concern and her eyebrows furrow as she turns to face her brother, “You're losing weight, you have giant bags underneath your eyes, you're barely eating anything, you're puking up everything you do eat, and you're barely sleeping,” he says, and she winces slightly with every word, “I'm _worried_ about you, aneki, and other people are too, okay? You _need_ to go see a healer, and soon,” he finishes, and Madara sighs tiredly, running a hand over her scarred cheek.

“I'm fine, okay, I just, have a bug or something-” she's cut off.

“Madara, as acting Hokage, I am capable of taking you off of active duty if I feel that you are unable to preform missions correctly, and _safely_ ,” Tobirama says, and she glares at him.

“Fine! I'll see a healer sometime this week,” she growls, scowling at the both of them, before walking off. She does not want to deal with this today, not when she can already feel the nausea creeping up on her yet again, stalking off to the bathroom to vomit stomach acid once more.

In the end, it isn't until three days later that Madara manages to see a healer, and it is only as an afterthought on her way home from a mission in a nearby town. She shifts nervously in the empty waiting room of the healer of the small village she is passing through, wishing for nothing more than to be on her way home again, but neither Izuna or Tobirama have let the matter drop in the past few days. She knows that both of them probably meant for her to see Hashirama about whatever is ailing her, but well, she's still avoiding the Senju, even though it has been three weeks since they last spoke, Madara feels the urge to wince whenever she remembers that argument. Her hands twist nervously as her name is called and she heads into the small backroom, sitting on the low cot and facing the matronly old healer who smiles at her.

“Hello Uchiha-san, what brings you here today?” she asks gently, and Madara sighs. It was now or never...

“I've... I've been having some... _problems_ , for the past few months or so,” she mutters, and the healer looks at her.

“Problems? Such as?”

“Nausea and excessive vomiting mostly,” she says dryly, “but also headaches, and fatigue.”

“Is that so...?” the healer frowns a little, standing up from her seat and stepping closer, “Would you mind lying down for me, Uchiha-san? I am going to have to ask you to remove your outer robe as well,” she requests, and Madara complies, leaving herself in her chest bindings and pants as she lays back on the cot, allowing the healer to gently poke and prod at Madara's abdomen and right above her pelvis. The woman's fingers are sharp as she examines her, and Madara can hear her murmuring to herself as she looks up at the ceiling of the room. She really just wants this over with, it's getting incredibly inconveniencing and honestly she'd just like to be able to eat and sleep again. Her eyes snap downwards as the old woman steps away, a faint smile playing around her lips. Madara's brows furrow at the expression on the woman's face as she speaks.

“I am almost certain I know what the problem is, but I have a few questions for you anyways, Uchiha-san, just to make sure that my assumptions are correct,” she says, and Madara frowns, propping herself up on her elbows. The woman continues speaking.

“When was your last menstrual cycle?” she asks, and Madara blinks, trying to remember the dates.

“Uh... the end of July I think?” she mutters, frown deepening as she remembers that fact. She hasn't bled in over two full months now she realizes, and her breath catches in her throat, eyes widening. The woman has a visible smile now.

“And did you have intercourse with anyone following the end of your menstrual cycle?” and all Madara can remember is one of the nights she and Hashirama had stolen together at the beginning of August, when both of their brothers were out of the village (there had been soft touches for once between the both of them, rustling blankets and quiet sighs as long fingers trace the curve of her spine as it arches and she gasps wordlessly and-). She looks up at the gently smiling woman, who carefully picks up one of Madara's hands, and moves it until it is resting softly on the spot right above her pelvis.

“Congratulations, Uchiha-san. You are almost eleven weeks pregnant,” she says, and the whole world freezes as the healer says the words out loud.

Pregnant.

She is pregnant.

There is a child growing in her body, right underneath her hand. She sucks in a breath as she feels the slightest hint of a bump sticking out, that had previously gone unnoticed, and stares down at the pale skin, crossed by a few scars, years old by now, remembering the story behind each and every one of them. Gingerly, she pokes at it, feeling nothing but lean muscle underneath. Wide eyed, she looks back up at the healer, who is watching the young woman with amusement (the old woman has treated many shinobi throughout the years, and a fair number of kunoichi to, and this one is like the few others that she had told were with child. Shocked mostly, and unsure of what to do now most likely).

“Now then, Uchiha-san, chamomile tea will help with the nausea some, and you really must eat more, you're supposed to be _gaining_ weight while pregnant, not losing it. Losing weight is bad for both you and the baby. I also recommend refraining from any type of strenuous activity for the duration of your pregnancy. You are through the first part of it almost already, and should begin to show in another few weeks. Have you had any instances of spotting?” the healer rattles off, and Madara only hears about half of that; she's returned to gingerly poking at herself, a look of awe mingled with disgust covering her face as she does so, still not wanting to believe what she has been told.

“Huh?” she asks, looking back up when she realizes the healer has been talking. The old woman smiles at her before repeating herself. Madara frowns, before nodding slowly.

“About three weeks ago, I- I had had an argument with, uh, someone, and later that day, there was blood, and I was cramping like when I menstruate,” she mutters and the woman frowns a little.

“That's not good. That means that you probably nearly miscarried your child,” she says, and Madara stares at her, she continues speaking, “You'll want to avoid much stress for the rest of your pregnancy, since you've already had one serious threatened miscarriage, another one would likely be a complete miscarriage instead of just a threatened one,” the healer is talking again, but Madara is busy frowning at the mostly unnoticeable bump above her pelvis. She can only see it if she is looking down over her bound breasts, and even then it is hard to see. There is another human growing there. A child, one made by her and Hashirama, and that really isn't something she wants to think about, not right now, so she sits up properly, and feigns listening to the healer as she pulls her robe back on. She offers the old woman a smile and a pouch of money as payment for her services.

“Thank you, healer-san,” she says politely, nodding at the old woman, before she turns and leaves, mind whirling as she makes her way back to Konoha, running through the trees as quickly as she possibly can.

She needs to find Hashirama, that much is sure. The Senju needs to know about this, the child is hers too after all, and Madara knows herself well enough to know that she really isn't thinking clearly about the situation at the moment. But Hashirama will be able to know for sure that there is a child growing in her womb with her medic-ninjutsu, and Madara needs that extra reassurance she thinks (although she isn't sure that reassurance is the right word to use in this situation), especially before she lets anyone else know. Madara groans, burying her face in her hands at the thought of telling her brother, let alone anyone else that she's pregnant.

“You're going to cause me so much trouble, I can already tell,” she mutters, eyeing her still flat stomach and scowling at it. Already this child has caused her grief, and it has only been not quite eleven weeks. She certainly hopes that the so-called “morning sickness” will abate as she gets further along as the healer had said that it should. Without really realizing what she is doing, her right hand finds it's way to the bump, hidden easily by her clothes at this point in time, and she gingerly traces circles above it, a frown marring her face as the gates of Konoha loom before her. First things first though, she has a mission report to hand in to Tobirama before she can hunt down Hashirama, so she heads towards the Hokage's office after signing in at the gate.

Her report is given verbally and quickly enough, handing over the scroll she had been sent to retrieve to the acting Hokage before asking about his sibling.

“Do you know where I can find Hashirama right now?” she asks, and Tobirama frowns.

“He's busy at the moment, our Clan Elders have finished sorting out the details of the betrothal contract with the Uzumaki and all that's left is for it to be signed. He's bound to be in meetings with them all day,” he says and a pang rips through Madara's chest at his words.

“Oh,” she mutters, and Tobirama's frown sharpens.

“Have you seen a healer yet?” he asks, and her lips twist.

“I have, but it doesn't matter anymore,” she says blankly, before leaving the office behind.

The house is empty when she arrives, and that is probably for the best, because Madara can feel what is left of her composure shattering as she makes it to her room and violently throws her weapons on to the floor. Her hands are shaking and she rips her gloves off, throwing them onto the floor as well and looking down in disgust.

She doesn't know what she was expecting. She _knew_ that the Senju were trying their best to marry Hashirama to an Uzumaki, and now, now she will be. Madara was never an actual choice, not for anyone. Her lips twist bitterly and she stalks off, unable to stay in the empty house for a moment longer.

She does not sleep that night, and she knows that it is obvious the next morning as she examines her reflection in the looking glass, pulling down on the grey-purple tinted skin underneath of her eyes as she frowns at herself. She can see why others were getting worried as she takes a step back to view her bare skin in the glass. Her hips are jutting out more than normal, and so are her cheekbones, skin paler than normal too, making the bruises under her eyes even more apparent. If she turns the right way though, she can just see the swell of where a child is growing in her womb. She glares at it, before getting dressed. She is still undecided on what she is going to do about the parasite leeching off of her.

Izuna looks up as she enters the kitchen and pokes around at the food in it, grabbing a few fresh picked cherry tomatoes from the coldbox and popping them into her mouth.

“Aneki, Tobirama said that you said that you've seen a healer?” he asks, standing up from the table to bring his empty dishes to the sink, putting them in and leaving them to wash later. She nods, having forgotten that yes, she had confirmed that she'd seen a healer yesterday after returning.

“I did,” she says, eating another of the small fruits carefully.

“And?” Izuna looks at her expectantly and she scowls, putting the bowl back in the coldbox, appetite gone.

“And nothing. There's nothing seriously wrong with me, I'm not dying or anything, and I'll be fine soon enough,” she snaps and Izuna blinks, before frowning.

“Honestly? Did the healer say what was wrong with you?”

“Yes, honestly, and she did, but it's none of your business,” she snaps, and her cheeks flush, and Izuna looks at her, before deciding that it must be a female thing and that he would really rather not know and his own cheeks flush in embarrassment as he waves his hands out in front of him.

“Alright, alright, I don't want to know,” he mutters, before grinning.

“Well since you're not dying, then you have no excuse to miss the Clan Council meeting today,” he says, and she groans, but lets her brother drag her out of the house, chattering about all that she's missed while she was preoccupied with getting out of the village as much as possible. She only half-listens, and freezes when Izuna stops walking, trying to edge away when she sees why.

Hashirama is there, smiling tiredly at the both of them, with Mito, who has an arm looped through the Senju's. She bites the inside of her cheek harshly, tasting copper in an instant as Hashirama offers her a smile and a nod, and Mito just smiles at her, gaze steady and clear. They.... They look good together, Madara has to admit. The prime example of what a shinobi should be, and the diligent, graceful and beautiful, demure kunoichi by his side. It makes her gut twist and she can feel the burn of acid in her throat. Izuna can easily read the expression on her face now after almost two months of constant sickness, and he lets her go to find somewhere private to vomit up the small amount of food she had eaten earlier. She rests a hand over her abdomen as she straightens, face blank as she knows what she must do. She does not return to the other three, who are still talking politely, instead she turns, and heads for the solitary comfort of her house. Her mind is made up.

There were herbs that do this kind of thing, Madara thinks as she kneels on the floor of her bedroom, in loose pants and her chest bindings, having tossed her overrobe somewhere, and then, afterwords, she could just- just cut her womb out of herself. Never have to deal with such a thing again. Not when it was going to be pointless. Not when all it would do is cause her more hurt. Not when it is worthless, not when _she_ is worthless. Her lips twist in a bitter smile and she lets out a sharp laugh that echoes around the empty room. She had finally done what the Elders wanted her to, and had found out right after she scared them off of her back. It is irony at it's finest. But it no longer matters now.

Idly, she fingers a kunai, digging the tip of it into her thumb and drawing blood. Madara wonders if she can really do it. Well no, she _knows_ that she can do it, and feel no guilt about it. It has been a day since hearing the healer tell her about her situation, but it hasn't quite sunk in yet, and now... Now with the betrothal contract between Hashirama and Mito being arranged, Madara does not think it will ever sink in. Not when she is going to end the situation before it can get any more out of hand than it already has. She twirls the kunai in her hand, before gripping it tightly. She will do this. She will take another mission, get out of the village and find a midwife who knows the herbs to end a pregnancy, and then, Madara will make it so she can never get pregnant again. She can do this. She _will_ do this. She _has_ to do this.

She digs the tip of the kunai into her thigh, curling in on herself.

“Why the _fuck_ can't I do this?” she whispers, staring down at the floor underneath of her as her free hand drifts down to rest on her slightly distended abdomen. Gently, her thumb begins to trace circles on it, as if it has a mind of its own.

“Why can't I get rid of you? I don't even _want_ you,” she murmurs, voice thick and she is forced to bite her lip to stop from crying. She closes her eyes, letting go of the weapon and hearing it clatter to the floor, ignoring the small wound in her thigh as she clutches at the small bump, hunching over more. All she can see behind her eyelids is a child, with dark brown hair, even darker eyes, and that same stupid, optimistic, happy grin that has haunted her for years now, bouncing around and calling out to her enthusiastically with outstretched hands.

“You're already so much like her, aren't you? You don't even have to be able to talk to me to make me do something,” she whispers, and quickly brushes the tears off of her cheeks, before giving a small laugh.

“Gods above know that I don't want this, and yet..” and yet she does. She _wants_ this child. Her thumb rubs across her belly, and Madara knows that she will have to figure something out, because this child is _hers_ , hers and Hashirama's, it is theirs, even more than the village is, and Madara will do all she can to protect this child, _her_ child, because Hashirama is marrying someone else, and will never even know for sure if this thing growing in Madara's womb is hers or not, because Madara cannot bring herself to tell the Senju. Not now. She will protect her child, even at the expense of herself. Getting rid of the thing growing inside of her is without a doubt the most reasonable option, keeping it will only cause problems, Madara knows this, but, she thinks, mouth set in a grim line, since when has she ever taken the easy way out of anything?

She laughs softly, and bandages her thigh quickly, pressing the palm of her hand flat against the small bump, before straightening. This child is _hers_ , and she will not let any harm come to it, and her eyes burn with determination.

 

Madara is eating again, carefully, but already she can tell the difference it is making in only a day. She is still sleeping fitfully though, but knowing now what is wrong with her helps her to relax and actually try now. It is Sunday now, and Madara is gladly taking the day off, idly straightening up around the house, making a mental note to make Izuna wash his own dishes, as she flits uneasily around the small kitchen. She frowns out the window, watching a gust of wind blow at the trees, ripping leaves away and making them dance until they hit the ground. A chill runs down her spine, and she smooths a hand over her midsection, biting her lip. She turns away from the window, and instead goes to focus on the paperwork that has been piling up in her office. She should at least get some sort of work done.

Izuna finds her there, right as her head is starting to pound and she has to stand up, her back beginning to ache as well. She pauses in the process of standing up, seeing the scowl on her brother's face, and sitting back down cautiously.

“Izuna?” she asks carefully, and sees his eyes flash red.

“Do you know what people are saying?” he hisses, and she frowns deeply.

“What are who saying, Izuna?” she asks, and he takes a ragged breath, running a hand through his bangs.

“People are calling you a whore, aneki. Saying that you've been sleeping around with Hashirama, that it's so _good_ that he has to break things off with someone as- as _easy_ as you, and that Mito will make him finally get his act together, and stop being so _submissive_ to you,” he snaps and she blinks.

“ 'Zu, people have been calling me a whore since before I became Clan Head,” she says, biting her cheek at the implication that she has been sleeping with Hashirama (because that accusation is actually true), and she frowns at the bit about Mito, scowling a bit. Why gossips felt the need to try and pit her against the other woman, comparing them unfavourably, she didn't know, but it was annoying.

“And accusing you of sleeping with Hashirama?” he shoots back, and it takes all of her self-control to not flush.

“ 'Zu, I've barely even _seen_ him in the last two months, let alone spoken to him or have time to have sex with him,” she keeps her voice steady, but her brother shoots her a suspicious glance anyways. She turns her attention back to her papers, frowning at a few them that need the signature of the Hokage along with her own. Sighing, she stands up, a hand moving to idly rub at the small of her back.

“I have to take these to the Hokage's office,” she says in response to Izuna's questioning look. He nods, a bit distractedly.

“Alright, okay, you should probably take those then,” he makes a face, “I have a meeting with the Elders,” he scowls and Madara snickers.

“If they try to tell you to do anything, tell them that I'm watching them,” her smile is unnerving and Izuna blinks at her.

“Aneki... What did you do?” her grin just widens.

“Not much, just stopped letting them push me around,” she says, reaching a hand up to mess up her brother's hair, “Have fun with the Elders, I'll see you later,” she says, and leaves her office as Izuna complains.

She hears the whispers start the second she steps out of the Uchiha Compound, and a scowl finds it's way onto her face amongst the mutters as she walks towards the Hokage's office. There are more than usual, and much louder than normal as well.

“Whore.”

“Such a disappointment to her clan.”

“Mito-sama is so much better.”

“ -such a disgrace.”

“So selfish.”

“-it's childish.”

“What _anyone_ let alone someone as handsome as Hokage-sama would see in her-”

“She-demon.”

“-should've died-”

“Worthless slut.”

“-'s only with him because she wants the position.”

“I heard-”

“-doing _that_ with her brother? No way.”

“-with Hokage-sama's brother too. Poor man, at least Mito-sama will be faithful.”

“Pathetic.”

Her palms are bleeding by the time she reaches the Hokage's office, and she wishes she had thought to put her gloves on before leaving. She tosses the scrolls at the desk Tobirama is sitting behind and scowls when he asks her to stay for a moment.

“I know that you've said that you've seen a healer, but it would still be best if you saw one here in the village,” he is saying, and Madara barely bites back a snarl at the look on his face, “My brother seemed particularily concerned when I told him that you've been sick. I would've thought that he'd been the first to know,” his brow is furrowed as he stares at her, and her lower back is aching something fierce, but she keeps her spine straight.

“And when _exactly_ , would I have told Hashirama? If you haven't noticed, we haven't talked since _August_ ,” her voice is dry as she speaks, and she knows that she's not going to see a healer in the village, because she doesn't want anyone else to know of her condition. (There was a _reason_ she had seen an out of village healer about this.) Tobirama's frown deepens.

“Look, just because my brother is getting married doesn't give you the right to act like,” he pauses, and Madara snorts.

“Like what? A spoiled child? A jilted lover? Don't worry about it, _Hokage-sama_ ,” her voice is mocking now as she stares coldly down at the white-haired Senju, “I won't be around to disrupt your pretty illusion of a perfect life for much longer,” she snaps, turning and leaving then and ignoring his protests and shouted demands. Her mind is whirling and she knows that she can't stay in this village for much longer. Not now. (She doesn't know why she was even going to try.)

It is not her village, that much has been made clear to her. It is Hashirama's village. It is Tobirama's village. Hell, it's even Izuna's village, but it is not hers. The whispers that follow her make that clear to her.

 

She is on top of the recently finished Hokage Monument when Hashirama finds her. Neither of them speak as the wind rustles the leaves of the trees surrounding them.

“Can you believe that it's been seven months since you named this place?” Hashirama asks her quietly and Madara shrugs, not saying a word, “It's been a good seven months, I'd like to think,” she continues, stepping forwards until she is standing at Madara's side, looking out over the village.

“Why didn't you tell me you were sick?” her voice is low as she asks, and Madara can hear the hurt in it, but she forces her face to remain blank.

“Because it's not any of your business what goes on in my personal life anymore,” she says quietly, and Madara carefully does not look at those brown eyes she secretly hopes the child in her womb will inherit, just so she can see them again.

“Madara,” Hashirama's voice is hoarse, “Friends care and worry about each other, and I thought that we _are_ friends, so...”

“Is that what we were?” she asks, voice light and as uncaring as she can make it.

“Madara,” she sounds like she is about to cry, and that makes the Uchiha want to punch something, but she reigns her emotions in. They have no place here. She is making the choice that is best for her and her child.

“Don't. What we used to be doesn't matter now,” her voice is hollow as she faces the brunette, “You are going to do your duty by your Clan and your village, just like you are supposed to,” she says, and ignores the wounded look that the Senju is giving her.

“Madara, _please_ ,” she is saying, shaking her head slowly, “It's _your_ village to! Your dream as much as it is mine! Stop talking like it isn't!” she's pleading, and Madara gives her an empty smile.

“But it's not my dream or my village. It is yours, and your brother's, and even my brother's, but it is not mine. It will never be mine. I don't belong here Hashirama, and I never will, and that's apparent to everyone. I just wanted to keep myself deluded that I could maybe have the peaceful, happy life we'd both dreamed of as children, but, that life just isn't for me,” she says quietly, suddenly tired, so tired of _everything,_ and Hashirama lets out a strangled sob.

“Don't do this Madara, please, you do belong here, I can't do this without you, you're so much more _important_ than you or anyone else realizes-” Hashirama is saying, reaching out to grab hold of her. Madara takes a step back, out of reach of the brunette.

“I'm sorry,” is all she says, _I love you_ , is all she doesn't say, and lets her clone dispel as Hashirama cries out her name in anguish.

Miles away from the village, Madara flinches as the memories flood her mind, and she bites her lip and pretends she doesn't notice the few tears that escape her eyes to roll down her face as she jumps through the trees, leaving Konoha far behind her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yup. so Hashi knocked Madara up. that's a thing that happened. Madara and pregnancy do not get along well. At all. uvu  
> Thanks to everyone who's read this so far, and an extra thanks to those who have left kudos, and even more thanks to those who have left comments!! You're all awesome!!!


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so this is a warning for a kind of almost overly detailed birth scene close to the end of this chapter (that made me cringe writing it, so yeah). other than that, enjoy the final part of Complications!

Part VI

* * *

Hashirama is near inconsolable the days following Madara's departure. Izuna is not in much better a state, and Tobirama is left to hold things together as best as he can, authorizing search parties to try and bring the wayward Uchiha back to the village. As much as he hates to admit it, she is a key part of the village, having been putting her reputation to good use in the months following it's formation. And now that she is gone... Well, Tobirama would rather not think about the possible consequences, and just have her dragged back. Preferably by her hair, he thinks, as he eyes his brother.

“You need to snap out of it, anija,” Tobirama tells his brother with a frown, and Hashirama's eyes are red rimmed and there are shadows growing underneath them, and the white-haired Senju finds himself disliking the missing Uchiha woman a little bit more with every day that his normally cheerful brother spends upset. Hashirama's shoulders just slump further forwards as she sits on top of the Hokage Monument. The people need their leader, especially right now, but Hashirama has been far more upset than Tobirama has ever seen him. Not even when he had been forced to break off his first friendship with Madara, had he been this upset. (Idly, he wonders if there was any substance to those rumours of Hashirama having more than just a friendship with Madara.)

“The Clan Elders are demanding to meet with you in order to finalize your betrothal,” he informs his older brother, who suddenly scowls fiercely, and stands up from where he had been slumped over.

“No,” he says flatly, and Tobirama blinks.

“What?” he's sure he couldn't have just hear his brother right, not Hashirama, who's always been happy enough to comply with what the clan wants of him...

“I said, no,” his voice is calm, but his anger? Frustration? Is evident to any looking closely enough, and Tobirama knows his brother more than well enough to see the emotion swirling just below his calm facade.

“Anija...” he says slowly, and Hashirama shakes his head.

“No, Tobirama. I'm not going to marry Mito,” he says, turning to look at his brother, “Summon the Clan Council. It's about time that I do something for myself,” he mutters the last part, and Tobirama's frown deepens.

“If this is because Madara left...”

“I love her, Tobi, and I _know_ that she cares about _me_ , and not any prestige or alliance she'd gain from marrying me. I've let this go on for too long as it stands. Mito-san is nice, but she deserves someone who will actually care about her, and I've long since given away my own heart. The lack of a marriage won't affect the alliance anyways,” he says, voice sharp, and Tobirama blinks (he should have put money down on those betting pools regarding his brother and Madara, he thinks, since he just all but got confirmation of his suspicions), but nods, uncrossing his arms, and turning to go let the Elders know Hashirama wants to speak to them all. He rolls his eyes as he does so; of course his brother wouldn't realize this _months_ ago in order to avoid all the drama that had happened, and the drama that was still bound to happen once someone managed to find Madara. Sometimes Hashirama was just too dense. Now he just had to get Madara back to the village and hopefully this whole mess would be finished.

But days pass, and then a week goes by, and there is still no sign of the missing Uchiha, as Hashirama withdraws more and more from everyone, even after breaking his near betrothal, and Izuna tries to pretend that he has no emotions whatsoever as the Uchiha Clan dumps more and more problems in his lap, and Tobirama stretches his sensing abilities to their breaking point. It is no use though. It is like the Uchiha woman has disappeared entirely.

 

It has been ten days since Madara has left the village and she still isn't sure how to feel. Her hand finds the growing swell of her belly without much thought anymore, and she gently prods at it, still not sure how exactly to feel about it. She has decided, however, that she should probably see a midwife, and the very thought of it makes her lip curl. The last time she had been near a midwife had been the death of her mother, and Madara had always done her best to stay far away from them since. The idea that she had to go and see one herself now was, well, nerve wracking someone else would say. But she is not someone else, so she takes a steadying breath, and knocks on the door of the midwife of the small village she has been in for the past day, near the northern borders of Fire Country.

She sits on the cot, and tries not to fidget as the older woman enters the room, she doesn't look much more than forty, the wide lines bracketing her mouth are made by years of smiles and laughter, and Madara twines her fingers together nervously. She answers the questions the woman asks of her, and undresses her top half and lays back in order to let the woman examine the child growing in her womb, to see how it is doing. Poking, and prodding, and probing with the small amount of healing chakra she is able to use, the woman frowns.

“You have to be more careful. Neither physical, nor mental stress are good during pregnancy, and you have been under plenty of both and it shows. It is likely why you are suffering more illness than most do during pregnancy. You need to eat more, and preferably keep down the food that you do eat,” she is saying, and Madara nods, making a mental note about everything the woman says.

“There's evidence that you've already had one threatened miscarriage, so you have to be even more careful. You might be a shinobi, but if you wish to have a healthy child you must take even more precautions than other pregnant women. Your body is ill-suited to childbearing as is, I'm surprised that you haven't already actually miscarried the child,” the woman says bluntly, and Madara blinks at her, and feels her brows furrow.

“Wait, what?” the midwife sighs.

“Contrary to popular belief,” her voice is dry, but it does not sound like this is the first time she has explained this to someone, “not all women are perfectly suited to having children. You're one of those who are likely to have problems, both with pregnancy, and then with the labour. Your hips are nearly too narrow to properly give birth, and I am actually surprised that you managed to conceive at all, considering your weight, or lack thereof,” she says.

“Huh,” Madara sits up, pressing a hand against the small of her back and rubbing circles against the suddenly sore part of her body, “Just goes to show how stupid the Clan Elders are,” she mutters to herself. Of course she'd have problems with having children, when all the Elders had been trying to do since she had turned fourteen was make her breed. She snorts quietly to herself, before turning her attention back to the midwife.

“Anything else?”

“Yes. You're finishing up your twelfth week, which marks the end of the first third of your pregnancy. You should be starting to actively show soon, and your breasts should also start visibly growing soon,” she says briskly, and Madara raises an eyebrow at her.

“My breasts?”

“Yes, in order to nurse your child when it's born, your breasts go through a number of changes as well, and grow to accommodate the milk to feed your child,” she says, and Madara looks down at her small chest, and can't avoid the look of disgust that flashes across her face, “that's why they get so tender during pregnancy, especially for first time mothers. It won't be as bad with subsequent pregnancies. Your breasts will likely stay larger than they originally were, after giving birth, especially if you nurse your child yourself instead of finding a wet nurse to do so for you.”

Madara snorts, “Pretty sure this is going to be the only child I ever have,” she says dryly, and accepts her robe from the midwife who hums and nods.

“As a general warning, first pregnancies do tend to be the most difficult, and you're going to have a harder time than most with it. It would be best if you settled somewhere quiet for the remainder of your pregnancy, preferably with a good healer and midwife close-by, not me, I'm too inexperienced with high-risk pregnancies and I'm no healer, but do try and avoid anything too physically demanding for the duration of this pregnancy, and make sure you have a good healer with you during labour, or the chances that you and your child will die are fairly high,” her voice is stern, and Madara can only remember hearing an Uchiha midwife give her mother a similar warning back when she was young.

_“Uchiha-sama, I understand the pressure the Elders are putting you under to have another child, but please, you have to listen to me. Those old men know nothing of a woman's body, and you know that that last pregnancy weakened your body and your health. It is not safe for you to conceive again, the risks are too great!” the midwife, a woman only faintly older than Madara's mother now is, begs her. Madara clutches Izuna's hand as they stand at their mother's right side, the twins to her left, and their newest brother safely held in her arms as she gives the other woman a faint smile._

_“I understand the risks I am taking, Hitomi-san, but you know as well as I that I cannot simply decide that it is time for me to stop having children when I am still capable of conceiving,” she says gently, and Madara spent years wondering what her mother had meant by those words. The midwife shakes her head._

_“Uchiha-sama, please, if you know the risks you know that-”_

_“That is enough, Hitomi-san,” her voice is sharp, that of the Uchiha Clan Matriarch, and the healer falls silent just as Madara's newest brother begins to cry. Madara watches the seen through a child's eyes, and remembers how her mother dismissed the other woman, telling Madara to take her other brothers and go play because it was time for their youngest brother to eat. A few months later and her mother is pregnant again, and this time, she screams and screams and bleeds out as she gives birth to a blue-faced baby girl, who isn't moving._

Madara shakes her head briefly, dragging herself from the memories as she nods at the midwife, offering her a polite smile.

“Thank you for the help, and for the advice, I will be sure to take it all into consideration,” she says quietly, and she will, because she does not want to end up like her mother. She wants to see her child grow, even if it is not in the village as she had once pictured any children she might have when she was younger, she will still keep her child from growing up on a battlefield.

The midwife gives her a few more warnings, before Madara leaves, slipping out of the building and out of the small village. She looks up at the sun, which is beginning to set, and then looks around at her surroundings. The leaves on the trees have long since changed colours, and more than a few have lost their leaves for the season, and it is with a start that Madara realizes the date, ten days after the thirteenth of the month, when she had left the village, and her hand rests on the slight swell of her belly without much thought.

_'Happy birthday, Hashirama,'_ she says mentally, and rubs a circle with her thumb over her abdomen. She wonders if Hashirama has married the Uzumaki yet. She wonders how Izuna is doing, how the village is doing, how the Clan is doing, what has happened in her absence, and she stops herself from wondering what might have happened if she had stayed. She turns on her heel, clenching her jaw and hardening her eyes. There is no time for daydreams, not when she is on her own and has not only herself to care for, but a child in her womb as well. She remembers an old Uchiha property, not far from her, right on the border of Fire Country and Rice Field Country, and decides that she will head there. So, masking her chakra even tighter, she heads off.

 

Another week passes, and Madara is astounded by how much of a difference a week can make. She is still suffering through nausea in the mornings, but she is now able to keep most food down later on in the day. The craving for mushroom soup of all things is starting to annoy her though, and she glares at her swelling belly every time she finds herself eating the damned stuff.

“There's no doubt about who's child you are,” she grumbles as she cleans up from her simple lunch. The house she is in is small, and a little run down when she had taken up residence in it, but it works for her needs well enough, and the gardens of the house are full of edible plants still, which is good, and the nearest village isn't so far away as to inconvenience her that much. One hand finds the small of her back as she finishes putting now cleaned dishes away, and she rubs at it idly. Her back aches more than ever lately, and Madara scowls at both her abdomen, and her now swelling breasts. The midwife hadn't been lying when she said that would grow as well. It has been just over a week, and already they have visibly grown; they were actually noticeable now, when before they had been barely present, but now, there they are, lumps of fat getting ready to nourish the child in her womb, hanging ever heavier off of her chest, too tender to even think about binding flat. Her stomach has swollen more as well, the skin over it stretching tighter as it becomes ever more visible to her, and soon enough, to anyone else looking. She sighs as her hand moves from her back to rest gently on the top of the swell.

“You're such a nuisance,” she murmurs to her child, not able to hide the creeping fondness in her tone. More and more she finds herself talking to the child, and she wonders if that is a normal thing, before brushing it from her mind. She watches out a window as the final browned leaves tumble from their tree, and frowns as she watches the wind blow them away, before turning away from the window. Already she is bored with the solitude, even if she knows that it is for the best, for both her, and her child.

October turns to November the next day, and Madara wakes, for the first time in weeks, without feeling any nausea at all. Gingerly, she sits up on her futon, and places a cautious hand over her womb.

“Have you finally decided to stop waking me up to puke?” she asks the child with a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. There is, obviously, no response, but the lack of nausea as she wakes put her in a good mood for the rest of the day.

The rest of the week passes with a mix of nauseous and unnauseous mornings, but the lack of constant nausea puts Madara in a good mood, a better mood than she has been in since August. The midwife of the local village tells her that she still isn't eating enough though, and Madara's lips thin as the old woman harps at her about the things she should be eating, and what all she should not be doing.

“At least you've finally got some teats on you girl, I was worrying that your poor babe would need a wet nurse because you weren't able to nurse it yourself,” she sniffs, and Madara grits her teeth, and doesn't bother to smile politely at the woman as she leaves.

It is uncharacteristically warm for even early November, but Madara takes advantage of the weather to get out of the small house as much as possible before winter sets in. The discovery, seven days into November, of the fact that the river that runs through Konoha makes it's way up through the north of the country and into Rice Field Country, makes Madara pause, before she approaches it.

The river isn't near where she first met Hashirama, but the stony banks of it look similar enough to them to make Madara pause. Her back protests as she crouches down and scoops up a few smooth pebbles. They skip across the clear water to the other side and Madara watches them clink against other stones. She bites her lip and rests an open palm on the near visible swell of her belly, hidden well by the hakama and kimono-style top she is wearing.  
  
“She should really be the one to teach you how to do this, but...” she sighs, and winces as the cloth of her top tugs on her sensitive breasts. The have grown a third in size in just the past few weeks, and are too sensitive to bind, and it is astounding how much they get in the way, overbalancing her, and adding to her aching back. She tugs her top back into place, having to shift her breasts physically to make it comfortable again, and pauses as she feels a light shifting elsewhere. Dark eyes blink, and widen, and she stumbles backwards until her back hits a tree and she slides down against it. She tugs her shirt out of where it is tucked into loose hakama, and she stares at her swollen stomach, The bump is visible now, forcing her to wear looser clothing in order to hide it. Her skin is stretched tightly over her growing womb, and gingerly she places an open palm against it.

There it is, that faint shift, a sort of fluttering. Madara claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her loud gasp, and presses her palm a bit harder against herself. Her chakra spikes unconsciously as she feels the baby quicken again.  
  
Her baby.  
  
She feels the faint shifting again and both of her hands are now cradling her stomach as she looks down at it in awe. There is a growing child _moving_ in her. Her child. Hashirama's child. A little being they had _made_.  
She stifles a sob and curses the pregnancy hormones that have made her so weepy and emotional as of late, gently smoothing her hand over her abdomen as she wipes at her eyes. Her hands stay cupping her stomach as she whispers at the child inside of her, promising to take care of it, to love it, to do the best that she can by it. Her voice is quiet and soft, and even she can barely hear it, absorbed as she is in feeling the light flutters in her womb. She doesn't even realize that she has stopped masking her chakra until she feels another fast approaching, one that she knows all too well, and her face drains of any and all colour as she quickly rights her clothing and shoots to her feet, face ashen as she stares to the south, knowing that there is no point in running. Not now. So instead, she waits, as dread creeps up on her, and she has to keep herself from resting a hand protectively on her abdomen, keeping it on the hilt of the sword at her side instead.

 

It is during a meeting when it happens.

Izuna, bags underneath his eyes that have only grown worse in the weeks since Madara left, is chewing on his already bitten through lip as he shuffles through papers. Hashirama, nails bitten down like they had been when he was younger, takes the pages he is handed without really looking at them, frown lines deepening as he looks down at them. Tobirama is more frazzled than he can really ever remember being, having to pick up the slack for his out of sorts brother, and it's all that stupid Uchiha's fault. He wonders if there is a jutsu that would allow him to go back in time, or if he should just go and see about _making_ one, and make sure that the woman just agreed to marry his stupid brother from the get-go so all of this could have been avoided. The awkwardness with the Uzumaki's could have been avoided, and the everlasting conflict with the clan Elders could have been toned down. But no. Madara just had to be stubborn, and now here he is, stuck with his brother sulking more than he ever had before, and it is starting to affect the village to. If only she would slip up now so they could find her and bring her back, especially since Hashirama hasn't let anyone know that Madara isn't actually coming back according to her, and people are starting to get suspicious. Idly, Tobirama leans back in his seat, his eyes still focused on the latest clan Head who has come to petition to join the village, and he lets his senses stretch out and out and-

His fist slams down on the table and the white-haired Senju is turning to look at Hashirama, speaking quickly as all eyes in the room turn to him.

“Her chakra- Down by the river, about sixty kilometers north-” he spits out, and Hashirama blinks once, before he is off like a rocket, formal robes abandoned on his now empty chair as he chases after the stupidly stubborn woman he just had to go and fall in love with. Tobirama will always wonder just what his brother sees in that woman, but he won't begrudge Hashirama his chance to be happy with someone he actually cares about, even if it is an Uchiha.

“Are you sure it's her?” he hears Izuna breathe out from beside him, a hand grabbing tightly onto his arm, Tobirama frowns at the other male, but he's pretty sure he can understand why Izuna is acting like this; Tobirama would be thrown completely out of sorts too if his older sibling just up and dumped everything on him before disappearing. So he nods. “It is, I'm sure of it. There's only one chakra like that that I have ever felt, and it is without a doubt Madara's,” Izuna breathes out a sigh.

“Now let's hope that your brother can bring her home. Things just aren't right without her around,” he murmurs, and Tobirama can't help but agree with him. Hashirama is too sulky and too up in the clouds without someone around to keep him grounded, and Tobirama would honestly rather let Madara deal with him; at least Hashirama tended to listen to her, mostly because he has to keep her in line as much as she does him. He thinks a silent prayer to any god of luck listening that Hashirama will manage to bring Madara home, before returning his attention to the stunned man in front of them, offering him an apologetic smile.

“I am truly sorry about that, but it involved a pressing issue that needs to be dealt with, now, please do continue, what will your clan offer to Konohagakure as a whole?”

Hashirama doesn't even care that she has run out on a very important meeting, because the second her brother had slammed his fist on the table and began speaking, her mind had only been able to focus on the Uchiha, who has been missing for three weeks now, which is three weeks _too long_.

She follows the river north, jumping through the trees as fast as she can, and ten minutes later she can sense that tell-tale chakra about thirty kilometers further north, and she speeds up as much as she can, unsure of what might be waiting for her when she arrives there. Another twenty minutes of running, and she lands gently on a stony riverbank, so similar to the one from her childhood that she pauses for a second, before she straightens up and sees Madara standing on the other side of the river, face blank and a hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of her sword. Hashirama almost cries as she sees the other woman for the first time in weeks. At least, she notes, Madara isn't looking as half-dead as she had when she left. There are still bags underneath her eyes, but they are nowhere near as dark as they had been, and it looks like she has managed to put some weight back on as well. The loose clothing she is wearing looks odd on her though, and makes Hashirama frown, before taking a tentative step forwards.

“Madara,” she says quietly, and the Uchiha takes a step back, staying quiet, “Madara please, I'm not here to fight with you,” she pleads. Madara's face is cold.

“If you're not here to fight, then _leave_ ,” she snarls, and Hashirama has to force herself not to flinch at the anger in the woman's voice.

“I'm not going to leave,” she says stubbornly instead, “Not unless you come with me,” she stands firm, looking across the river at the Uchiha, who sneers at her.

“Not going to happen,” she snaps, and her eyes blaze red. Hashirama looks away from her eyes, acting on instincts borne from fighting the other for so long.

“Madara, _please_ , you're needed in the village, come _home_ ,” the Senju takes another step forwards, onto the river, and Madara draws her sword, holding it steady in front of her.

“I don't give a _damn_ about the village. It can burn for all I care,” her voice is harsh, and Hashirama gives her a wounded look. Madara grits her teeth.

“You don't mean that,” the brunette whispers, shaking her head slowly, and taking another step forwards.

“But I _do_ mean that,” Madara snaps, her hands beginning to shake as she feels herself fall into her anger, channeling it in order to use it to her advantage, as she has for years. It has been so long since she has fought Hashirama, and she is itching for the chance to wipe that look off the Senju's face, erasing all the memories of nights spent together as best as she can. It is easier if she only remembers anger.

“The village can burn, and I'd gladly be the one to do it,” she snarls, lying through her teeth (she could never hurt the village she and Hashirama had spent so long dreaming of, no matter how much the village managed to hurt her, but it's not like Hashirama will know that), and shifting her stance. Hashirama's face is full of hurt.

“No,” she whispers, taking a few more steps closer, “you can't mean that Madara. You _don't_ mean that,” she says, voice cracking as she speaks.

“Take one more step, _Senju_ , and I will _gut_ you,” her voice is ice cold, and there is no hint of Madara in it, only the Uchiha's demon-lady, and Hashirama pauses for just a second, mind reeling, before jerking her chin up, eyes flashing coldly.

“Madara,” her voice is clipped and Madara shifts again, bringing her sword up, twisting it horizontally, “You can either agree to come back to the village with me right now without putting up a fight, or I will _force_ you to come back.”

Madara's upper lip curls back, and her eyes swirl, “I'd like to see you _try_ ,” she snarls.

“Please don't make me do this,” Hashirama's voice is hoarse, but Madara shows no signs of backing down, so she is forced to bring her own hands up, and then they are off.

Swords clash and clang with a harshness they haven't had in years, and Hashirama can _feel_ the anger rolling off of Madara as she snarls and snaps and throws herself into the fight. But there is a hint of hesitancy there, and it throws Hashirama off, and makes her worry for the other, because never holds back in a fight, which means that something is _wrong_. But Hashirama cannot hold back, because even with that cautiousness the Uchiha is showing, she is still ruthless and vicious, and cuts a deep gash down Hashirama's arm when she tries to plead with the Uchiha to stop this nonsense.

Madara will not back down though, she cannot afford to. She will not be dragged back to the village in shame, forced back into doing as she is told, and scolded like an errant child. So instead she shoots the Senju a bloodthirsty grin, and renews her attacks, slashing and stabbing, cutting, and parrying, and their swords are locked, blade to blade, and both of them are panting, and bleeding, and they have been at a stalemate for over an hour now, but neither are willing to back down. Madara grits her teeth as something in her abdomen pulls, and she jumps back, out of the way of Hashirama's sword, and their fight begins again.

Mokuton and Katon jutsu clash, and leave acres of destruction in their wake, as the fight drags on and on. And then, Madara stumbles, hit with cramps, that are worrying in their intensity, and all she can remember in a flash, are the warnings of the midwife she had seen only two weeks ago, and every other midwife who had looked at her. Her sword drops to the muddy ground as her hands fly to the hidden bump over her pelvis and she sinks to her knees, eyes wide and face ashen and barely misses a swing of Hashirama's sword, which neatly cuts a chunk of her hair off instead of her head, leaving a thin, bleeding slice behind on her face. Hashirama pauses, staring at her in confusion and worry, still holding onto her own weapon as she approaches.

“... Madara?” she asks, cautiously, unsure of what is now going on, but it is worrying, because Madara looks terrified and is starting to become hysterical from the looks of things.

“No,” Madara moans, clutching at her lower belly, “Nononono...” she is frantic now, and Hashirama can hear the fear and pain in her voice, so she drops her sword and steps closer. Madara's head snaps up at the movement, and she pushes herself back, further away from the Senju, who feels a flash of hurt at the action but pushes it away. There are more important things to worry about right now.

“Madara...” she murmurs, and raises her hands, showing them to be empty as she takes another small step forwards, “What's wrong?”

Madara is shaking her head, not looking up anymore and Hashirama gets a sinking feeling that whatever is wrong right now will explain just about everything that has occurred in the past few months, so she crouches down next to the smaller woman, and she can practically feel the distress rolling off of her in waves.

“Madara please, tell me what's wrong, how can I help you?” she asks, voice cracking and she bites her lip. Madara looks up at her then, hands still over her abdomen, and her eyes are over bright, and with a start, Hashirama realizes that the Uchiha is crying and Madara never cries and whatever is going on must be _bad_ , and then Madara opens her mouth and croaks out; “ _Baby_ ,” and Hashirama's world freezes.

The sickness, the headaches, the tiredness, the mood swings, the emotions in general, the loss and gain of weight, the anger and frustration, the arguments. The many, many nights spent together, with one of them always waking in the other's room. The dots connect, and Hashirama stares down at Madara, who is clutching at- oh. _Oh_.

Hashirama remains frozen as seconds tick by, not sure what to do, what she _can_ do, but she is stubborn, and she has to do _something,_ because Madara is moaning and rocking in pain and worry and fear, and Hashirama can see the blood starting to seep through Madara's hakama, and she just can't sit back and watch.

“I need you to lie back and move your hands,” she says, feeling oddly detached from the moment, even though her mind is spinning and whirling and she vaguely thinks she wants to puke, but she can't not right now, not until Madara is safe, not until their- Hashirama swallows thickly, before focusing on the task at hand. Madara hasn't moved, is still hunched over, so she gently places a hand on the Uchiha's thin shoulder, pushing her body up slightly so that her own hands can get to where they need to be.

“Lie back,” she murmurs, keeping her voice as soft as possible as Madara whimpers and it's such an un-Madara-like sound to make that a strong flash of worry passes through Hashirama at it. Gently, but not slowly, she moves Madara's hands out of the way, quickly ripping Madara's shirt to get it out of her way, yanking her pants off too, baring her swelling stomach to the world, and gently pressing her hands against it, green chakra swirling around them.

“Have you experienced any previous problems with your pregnancy? Any spotting or concerning cramping?” Hashirama asks as her chakra enters the other woman, swirling around to discover the cause of her distress as Hashirama lets herself fall easily into the role of healer, asking questions she has only had to ask a few times before to some of her cousins. Slowly, Madara nods.

“Yes,” she whispers hoarsely, and Hashirama just wants to hold her tight and never let her go, and she thinks that after this, she is never going to let Madara leave her sight again.

“I've had one threatened miscarriage, back in September, and the midwife I saw a few weeks ago said I had to be careful about the stress on my body,” Madara's voice is quiet, and hollow sounding, and Hashirama hates it, “I'm too underweight for childbearing. The midwife was surprised that I had yet to actually miscarry the baby beforehand, so I guess it was just a matter of time.”

Hashirama bites her lip harshly, and she pushes more chakra into Madara, doing all that she can to stabilize the delicate situation in her womb.

“You're not about to have a miscarriage now, not if I can help it,” Hashirama mutters, and shifts her hands on Madara's abdomen, green still swirling around her hands as she nudges a few things here, and some there, slowly, oh so slowly, gets Madara's body to back down and stop trying to abort the child within her due to the stresses on it. It takes over an hour, and there are beads of sweat dripping off of Hashirama's face, and Madara has bitten through her lip twice and there is dried blood on her chin by the time Hashirama feels comfortable enough to remove her hands from Madara's abdomen, pulling them away slowly and letting the stream of chakra stop. She has done all that she can to save the baby, healing any unintentional damage that had been done to it at the same time, along with trying to strengthen Madara's own body in order for the pregnancy to hopefully go a bit better. She leans back on her heels and looks down at the Uchiha, who has risen to her elbows. They are silent for a few tense moments, before Hashirama speaks.

“You're pregnant,” she says simply, and Madara just snorts, so Hashirama continues, “You're pregnant. With my- _our_ child...”

“With _my_ child,” Madara snaps then, and Hashirama frowns.

“But-” A black eyebrow rises.

“Aren't you supposed to be marrying that Uzumaki woman?” Madara says, and Hashirama freezes, flinching a little, before smiling sheepishly.

“Actually uh, after you left, I sort of, uhm, well,” she stammers, wondering just how she was supposed to put this. Madara scowls at her.

“Just spit it out already,” she snaps, not wanting to hear details about the Senju's wedding to the Uzumaki.

“Uhm, after you left I sort of, threatenedtocalloffthealliancewiththeUzumakiiftheydidn'tstoppushingamarriage-,” she pauses for a breath, “-andthenIsortofyelledatmyownclanEldersandmighthavetoldeveryonethatIwasactuallycourtingyou-” she says quickly, leaving Madara staring up at her.

“You did _what_?” she asks, face blank. Hashirama takes a deep breath, before repeating herself, slower this time.

“After you left, I kind of threatened to call off the alliance with the Uzumaki's if they didn't stop pushing a marriage as part of the new alliance with them,” she says slowly, and gets a slow nod from Madara before continuing, “And then I sort of... lost my temper with the Senju clan Elders for pushing me to marry so much and I uh, I might have told them that I was courting you, because I really would like to, court you that is, properly, but uh..” she trails off, cheeks flushing as she sneaks a quick glance down at Madara's still bare stomach. Madara looks down at it too, and her brow furrows in thought for a second, before her eyes flicker up and she rolls them at Hashirama.

“I still won't marry you, but I guess I can agree to live with you,” she says, remembering a conversation from what had started as a quiet morning months ago. Hashirama's face breaks out into a blinding grin and she swoops down to kiss Madara quickly, but deeply.

Madara splutters, and Hashirama pulls away, grin still on her face, and the Uchiha scowls, before trying to stand up,

and letting out a sharp, pained gasp, hunching over as Hashirama grabs hold of her, worry shining in her eyes as a tanned hand covered in healing chakra gently lands on the swell of her belly again.

“You're not going to be able to stand, let alone walk for a while,” Hashirama murmurs, gently picking Madara up in her arms, ignoring the Uchiha's protests, “I'm afraid that you're going to be stuck in bed for a few weeks, which is honestly for the best anyways,” she says, and Madara crosses her arms over her chest.

“Ugh. This sucks,” she mutters, and Hashirama grins, and leans down to peck the tip of the shorter woman's nose.

“Where have you been staying? We'll get your stuff and then head home, okay?” she says softly, and Madara grumbles out directions to the small house, which Hashirama declares cute, before collecting all of the Uchiha's things, storing them away, before picking her up carefully again, once more ignoring her protests.

“I'm not crippled,” she snaps, and Hashirama grins and nuzzles against her scarred cheek.

“Nope, but you are pregnant and injured, and I'd really like to get the both of you home safely,” she says, and Madara scowls, but stays quiet. A few minutes later and Hashirama can feel the Uchiha's face press against her neck, and her smile softens as she holds the other woman just a little bit tighter as they make their way back to Konoha.

 

It takes an entire day for them to get back to the village and by then Madara has stopped protesting Hashirama carrying her; the pain has faded some, but it is still very much so present, and she spends the night curled around her middle protectively while Hashirama keeps watch. They bypass the gates, with Hashirama carrying the Uchiha straight to her own house, knowing that Tobirama would have long ago sensed them both returning, so she decides that anything else can wait until Madara is settled down and properly resting.

The Uchiha tries to protest as the Senju takes her home and up to her own bedroom, setting her down on the large bed in the middle of it.

“Couldn't you have taken me to _my_ house?” she asks, and Hashirama just grins and shakes her head.

“Nope! You said that you'd live with me, and as your healer I don't want you moving out of bed for at least two weeks, and the best way to keep an eye on you is for me to be near,” she winks, “Besides, it could be worse, I could have taken you to the hospital, and I doubt that the medics there would have let you leave any time soon,” she says far too cheerfully, and Madara shudders. Hashirama leans down and kisses her gently, still smiling, and presses her forehead against the other's.

“You won't leave again, will you?” she asks quietly, and Madara sighs, before shaking her head, and raising her arms up to tangle in brown hair, tugging Hashirama's face closer to kiss her.

“I won't leave again,” she mutters against the Senju's mouth.

And then Izuna and Tobirama come rushing into Hashirama's room, and Izuna sees his sister lying on the bed, and lunges for her, knocking Hashirama out of the way, before hugging her tightly.

“I should kill you for leaving like you did,” he mutters, and Madara winces, before pushing him away gently. He pulls away, frowning a little.

“Aneki...” he pauses, “What is-?” he stops, looking down at her visibly swollen stomach with bewilderment, and Madara finds herself snickering lightly. Hashirama at least, has the decency to flush and look away. Izuna blinks, looking from his sister, to the Senju, and then his eyes narrow as he looks between his sibling and Hashirama once more, before his jaw goes slack, and he stumbles backwards slightly.

“You knocked my sister up!” he says, more out of shock than anything, and even Tobirama pauses as he looks between the two older siblings. Madara just shrugs, Hashirama looks embarrassed, and the white-haired Senju finds himself rubbing his temples, because _of course_ his brother had gotten the Uchiha pregnant. Of course he had.

There is lots to sort out, now that Madara has returned, not the least, what is going to happen between the two of them, but Madara stands firm, and Hashirama backs her up wholeheartedly, just happy to have her home and with her again. The Elders of both clans throw a fit when they find out about Madara being pregnant, but Hashirama sternly forbids any of them from bothering the woman, who is stuck in bed for the foreseeable future until Hashirama declares it safe enough for her to do more than hobble to the bathroom, which she does with increasing frequency over the weeks. The Senju makes sure that Madara is never alone in their now shared house during those weeks, just in case anything does happen.

Madara is lying in bed one afternoon near the end of November, alternating between reading scrolls she had Izuna bring her from their previously shared home, and poking at her growing belly, which is becoming ever more visible as the days go by. Izuna is sitting beside the bed, pouring over some paperwork or another that he had brought for Madara to see and approve of for the Clan, when her brother looks up suddenly.

“Hey aneki,” he says, and she doesn't look from her scroll.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Have you thought of what you're going to name the baby?” he asks, and she pauses, blinking a few times.

“Uh, no actually, I haven't,” she admits. It has been a hectic seventeen weeks of pregnancy (not to mention that she hadn't even known that she was pregnant for ten of those weeks), and not once had she thought of what name to give the child in her womb. Admittedly, she had been too busy trying to keep herself and the baby alive for most of the time she had known about the pregnancy to stop and think of what she wanted to name it. She frowns.

“You should name your kid after someone awesome,” Izuna says, looking at her thoughtfully. Madara puts the scroll she's been reading down and looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Really now?” she asks, voice dry, and her brother grins at her, nodding.

“Yup! Someone awesome... like me,” he shakes his hair back from his face and grins even wider at her and Madara gives him her best deadpan look, before snorting and looking away.

“Che, not happening. Besides, you're not awesome,” she retorts, and he huffs.

“Am so!” he protests, and falls silent for a moment, eyeing the scroll that Madara has been reading.

“Wasn't that one of the ones that Father never let us touch when we were younger?” he asks, she nods, picking it up again.

“Mm. It's regarding the founding of our clan by Indra,” she says, and Izuna is silent again, but Madara can feel the grin spreading across her younger brother's face, and she holds back a sigh as she looks up from her scroll again.

“I've got it,” he says, and she can already tell that she's going to regret asking, but she does so anyways because he'd be even worse if she didn't.

“Got what?”

“The perfect name for your baby,” he says, and Madara closes her eyes and counts to ten.

“And what is it?” she asks finally, opening her eyes again.

“Izuna Tajima Indra Uchiha,” he declares, and Madara stares at him.

“No,” she says flatly, and her brother deflates.

“Why not?”

“Because that is ridiculous. And one of you is bad enough, there doesn't need to be another Izuna running around until long after you're gone,” she says, ignoring her brother as she turns back to her scroll. Izuna doesn't let up though, and as the months change and December rolls into Konoha, he keeps suggesting more and more names for the baby, until Madara throws a book at his head, giving him a black eye, and tells him that she's already got a name picked out.

“So I hear Izuna's moping about you having picked out a name for the baby,” Hashirama says the next afternoon, one hand on Madara's swollen abdomen, healing chakra flowing through it as she checks on both mother and child. Madara shrugs.

“Well it's not like I was about to use any of his stupid suggestions,” she mutters, huffing and crossing her arms over her stomach. Hashirama snickers lightly.

“I don't know, that first one he keeps touting had a nice ring to it,” she says lightly, and Madara glares down at her.

“I am _not_ naming my baby after my brother,” she snaps, rubbing her abdomen absently as Hashirama finishes up and stands up, “Besides, it's going to be a girl anyways,” she sniffs, and Hashirama raises an eyebrow at her, grinning.

“Oh is it now?” she asks, straightening the blankets around Madara, who nods. Hashirama laughs, before shaking her head.

“Either way, I'm looking forwards to meeting them,” she says softly, kissing Madara's temple, “But it won't be until the end of April or so until we do get to meet them.”

“And am I supposed to just stay in bed until then?” Madara asks archly, her mood swinging abruptly, and Hashirama sighs. It has been six weeks since she brought the other back to Konoha, and the danger of a miscarriage has almost entirely passed now, so, she relents, and gives Madara the okay to get out of bed now.

She sternly tells the Uchiha however, that she is not to be up and about for long though, and then proceeds to cheerfully tell Madara that she will end up tied to the bed if she spends too much time out of it. Madara's cheeks flush, and Hashirama's grin widens as her brown eyes glint.

“Pervert,” the Uchiha mutters, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and carefully standing up, tugging the edges of the plain robe she is clad in closer, attempting to tie the sash of it tighter with one hand while holding it closed with the other hand.

“Madara,” Hashirama murmurs, her voice low, and she looks up, breath hitching in her throat at the look in the brunette's eyes. Her hands fall to her sides, and the robe slips open and slides partially down her shoulders. Hashirama takes a step closer, and gently tugs the robe the rest of the way off, letting it pool on the floor. Brown eyes darken as they drink in the expanse of pale skin now on display. They drag up pale legs, and soften at the gentle swell of Madara's belly, before pausing at her breasts. Madara flushes, and Hashirama grins, stepping closer.

“You're so beautiful,” she says quietly, one hand curling around a pale hip to tug the shorter woman closer, the other cupping a scarred cheek, thumb smoothing over the rough skin. Madara growls something inaudibly, but Hashirama just smiles and leans down to kiss her softly and sweetly. Madara's hands grip at Hashirama's shirt as she kisses back, and she never wants it to end as the hand on her hip skims up her body to gently take hold of a sensitive breast. Madara whines into the brunette's mouth as Hashirama's thumb gently circles her nipple, and she is forced to pull away in order to gasp, and pant, watching the other with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I love you, so much,” Hashirama whispers fiercely, still holding onto Madara's face gently, tugging her in for another deep kiss, that has her knees weakening, and makes her cling to Hashirama in order to stay standing. Madara cannot yet bring herself to say those words back to the Senju, but she makes sure that her feelings are known as she eagerly responds to the brunette's open mouthed kisses, letting herself be drawn back onto the bed, where Hashirama leans over her, before bending down to press kisses against every inch of pale skin she can. Madara's back arches upwards as she gasps and tangles fingers in brown hair as her eyes close and she lets herself get lost in the pleasure that the Senju is offering to her.

 

Madara awakens the next day to a commotion outside the door of the bedroom, and she grumpily sits up, rubbing at sleep-filled eyes, and drawing the blankets close around her naked form, cursing Hashirama for tossing her clothes somewhere she can't immediately find them at the end of December of all months. She shivers slightly, and drags a heavier blanket over her, wrapping herself up, just in time for the door to burst open, revealing four of the Uchiha Clan Elders, and a very hassled looking Izuna. She purses her lips and lets her eyebrows rise, staring the four old men down.

“Can I help you?” she asks sarcastically, and gets glares in response.

“Whose bastard is it?” Daiki snaps at her, practically spitting venom, and Madara tries hard not to snort.

“I'm not sure what you're talking about,” she says blandly instead, and covers her mouth with her hand as she yawns lazily. The old man scowls harder at her.

“Who are you going to be marrying?” he snaps, changing his tactics, and Madara smiles blandly at him as she answers.

“No one,” he gapes at her.

“What do you mean, _no one?_ You have to marry _someone_!” he snaps. She shrugs.

“No I don't. You only ever said that I had to do my duty by the clan and have children. Well, as you can tell I'm pregnant, so there,” she shoots back, smirking. His glare turns absolutely poisonous.

“Whose child is it,” he snarls out, and Madara places a careful hand on her swollen stomach.

“Mine,” she replies, and he snarls again, taking a step forwards.

“Now listen here, you useless _whore_ , you're either going to tell me who you let knock you up so we can get you married off, or you're going to get _rid_ of the useless bastard-” Madara calmly brings her right hand up, makes a sign, channels her chakra, and blows fire at the old man, who stares in shock, before the pain hits and he starts screaming, and jumping, and flailing around. Madara settles back in the bed, wrapping the blanket tighter around her chest, and reaches over to pluck a scroll from the nightstand table, unrolling it and calmly finding where she had left off with it as everyone rushes into the room and tries to put the fire out. It takes Izuna dragging Tobirama from his study to get the fire out, and by then Hashirama has been summoned from her office as well, and she looks between the scorched, soaking, spluttering, Elder, and the calmly reading Madara.

“... Did you honestly set him on fire?” the Senju asks, and Madara looks up with a blank face.

“The pregnancy hormones made me do it,” she says seriously, keeping her face impassively straight, and everyone stares at her. Madara returns to ignoring them all as Hashirama stifles laughter and shoos everyone out of the room.

Madara birthday passes quietly, only three days later, with Izuna cheekily presenting her with a box full of their old baby clothes, and Hashirama taking the day off, absolutely smothering her with affection the entire day. (Madara might vocally protest it, but she secretly enjoys it, laughing quietly as Hashirama presses her ear against her swollen stomach, talking happily to the growing baby and receiving a kick to the cheek through Madara's womb in return, she gapes up at Madara as the Uchiha laughs loudly in surprise.)

January passes just as quietly. Izuna has taken over most of the mantle of Clan Head as Madara's stomach swells and grows more with each week, and Hashirama finds herself gently kneading at Madara's aching back nightly before the Uchiha curls up against the Senju's chest for the night, tugging the blankets firmly around herself to keep out the chill of winter.

February is short, but there is a festival to mark the day that Konoha came into being, and Madara rolls her eyes and indulges in Hashirama's whims for the day, letting the Senju lead her around the stands and games set up in the chilly February air. She ignores the whispers behind her back. They aren't worth listening to, not when the baby in her belly is kicking again, and Madara bites back a growl at a particularly vicious kick to her ribs. She prods her stomach and the kicking stops. She sighs, and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose when she sees Hashirama playing some ridiculous game. Again.

And then, it is March, before anyone really realizes it.

Madara blinks lazily as she wakes up the morning of March thirteenth, and groans as a shaft of sunlight hits her face directly, turning her face to bury it back in her pillow, vainly trying to fall back asleep before the pressure against her bladder gets to be too much and forces the Uchiha to pull herself up from the bed and shuffle off to relieve herself, grumbling all the while. She scowls at her swollen stomach, and presses a hand against her aching lower back as she makes her way to the kitchen to find something for breakfast. At least she wasn't as big around as some of the mothers-to-be that she had seen over the years.

Hashirama had left for the office an hour earlier, dragged off by Tobirama due to a meeting that neither of them could miss, and Madara knew that Izuna was there too, and she scowls more.

“I can't wait until you're out so I can get back to actually doing stuff,” she mutters at her abdomen, before sighing and going back to finding something to eat. The nausea of her first few months of pregnancy were long gone now, and Madara hops that she'll never have to experience them again. She finishes eating, and cleans up the kitchen as much as she can, frowning a little as she presses a hand against her stomach. It feels... Almost off somehow, but she shakes it from her mind and goes to find the book she had been reading the previous night in order to continue it. At least that was one good thing to come out of this pregnancy, she thinks with amusement, much less paperwork for her to do, and Hashirama still wasn't letting any Clan Elders at all near her, not since the incident back in December.

Madara settles back in bed with a relieved sigh. She hates being stuck in bed again, but, even she can admit that walking around while incredibly off-balance, with an aching back, and swollen ankles was not the best of ideas. Unfortunately, her bladder insists that she get up at least once every hour these days, and it is with a groan that she does so, carefully climbing out of the ridiculously comfortable bed in order to go to the bathroom yet again.

Returning to bed, she groans when she feels the pang of contractions, muttering under her breath about why her stupid body has to _practice_ having contractions of all things as she rubs at her lower back, wincing as the pain in it increases as she settles back on the bed. She ignores the pangs of pain as they pass through her body, gritting her teeth as they don't stop. Two hours later, she gives up on reading, and forces herself out of bed, needing to do _something_ before being stuck inside drove her mad.

Madara hears the door to the house open and close then, and voices drift down the hallway as she carefully stretches, winces at a particularly painful wave of pain, before making her way down the hallway to see Izuna arguing with Tobirama. She rolls her eyes at the both of them, before turning towards the kitchen, frowning as she looks over the food present as she feels the two younger men follow her.

"How was the meeting?" she asks, poking around the cupboards and cold box. Izuna merely groans, and Tobirama snorts.

"That bad huh?" okay, so maybe missing out on all these meetings isn't such a bad thing after all, she figures.

"You have no idea, aneki," Izuna's voice is muffled, and Madara looks at her younger brother out of the corner of her eye, seeing his face pressed firmly against the surface of the table, and she feels her eyes roll again, before feeling a kick at her bladder at the same time another wave passes through her abdomen, and she winces, and glares at her stomach.

"Oh, so now _you're_ awake," she mutters, rubbing the spot where she had just been kicked, and ignoring her brother's snickers. She winces again as her bladder is kicked once more, and glares at her stomach.

"Alright, alright, I'm going to the bathroom," she grumbles, and turns around, and freezes. There is a small, almost popping noise as yet another contraction hits (because Madara has reached the limits of her denial, and she knows full well that these are no longer false contractions), and then there is liquid dripping down the inside of her thighs and Madara closes her eyes, and grits her teeth, because of course not even this can go as planned. Of _course_ it can't.

"Aneki?" Izuna asks, sitting up and frowning at his older sister, who remains frozen in the middle of the kitchen, her fists clenching and unclenching as she takes a breath. Madara turns to the white-haired Senju.

"You should probably go and get Hashirama," she says, and he frowns at her. Her mouth settles into a grim line; "I'm in labour. My water just broke." He blinks at her, and Izuna gapes, before the reality of her words settle in.

"But you're not supposed to be due till the end of _April_!" Izuna shoots up, eyes wide, "It's only March!" Madara closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

"And since when has anything about this stupid pregnancy gone as planned?" she asks him dryly. Tobirama, at least, has the sense to have already left, going to fetch Hashirama, and hopefully the midwife as well. Madara turns and starts to make her way back to their shared bedroom, because she'll be damned if anyone tries to make her do this anywhere else now that it's already started. Izuna follows, still spluttering protests.

She has just settled back onto the bed with a sigh and a wince, one hand gently rubbing circles on her abdomen, when Tobirama returns with Hashirama and the midwife, both of whom quickly snap at the younger men to fetch warm water and lots of towels. Madara bites back a groan as a stronger contraction hits, and she feels Hashirama slip one tanned hand into hers, and another fall onto her stomach, chakra swirling around gently.

"How long have you known that you've been having contractions?" the midwife asks as she bustles around the room, closing the windows, and clearing the blankets off the bed, setting up more pillows to help Madara lean back in a better position.

"The past three hours," she mutters, and squeezes Hashirama's hand as the next one hits, grinding her teeth against each other. The midwife briskly strips her and helps her into a plain white robe, loosely tied underneath her breasts as she moves Madara's feet to lie flat against the mattress. The Uchiha watches with a bit of amusement as her and Hashirama's brothers return with the items they had been sent to fetch, taking one look into the room as they hand them off, before they both turn red and knock each other over in their haste to get out. She snorts and Hashirama huffs a soft laugh herself.

Madara yelps, turning bright red herself when she feels the midwife's hand poking around in between her thighs, looking at the top of the woman's head with wide eyes.

"You're not quite dilated enough yet," the woman mutters, and Madara can hear the frown in her voice as she bites her lip through another wave of contractions, "You have at least a few more hours to go before the babe can be delivered."

Madara bites through her lip and tastes blood as she whines almost inaudibly through the next wave of contractions, not paying any attention anymore to what the midwife and Hashirama are discussing. Her lower body is one sharp ache, worse than any wound she had received before it feels, and it _just won't stop_.

"You need to breathe, Madara," Hashirama murmurs against her ear, kissing her temple gently, and smoothing her hair back away from her face.

"I'd like to see you try and breathe through this," she snaps back at her, glaring, before biting her lip again, nails digging into the Senju's hand tightly. Hashirama winces, before the midwife catches her attention again, saying something quickly and quietly that makes the Senju frown.

"Her contractions shouldn't be this bad this early," the midwife says in a low voice. Hashirama looks at the Uchiha in concern, "It's going too quickly, and she's not opening up enough. This isn't going to be an easy birth," the older woman's voice is grim, and the brunette takes a breath, smoothing her thumb over the top of Madara's hand.

"She'll make it. They both will," she says firmly, and the midwife sighs, before nodding.

"Alright then, Hokage-sama. Now, like I told her, she has at least a few more hours to go before the child is able to be born. I will return then. Keep an eye on how dilated her cervix is though, it's hard to tell what things may go wrong during an early birth such as this one. Send your brother for me when she's opened up enough," the midwife says, and Hashirama nods, and the older woman leaves the room. Madara glares up at the brown-haired Senju then.

"I am going to _stab_ you, if you ever make me go through something like this again," she says through gritted teeth, "A few more _hours_ before you can get this damn thing out of me?" she trails off, muttering curses under her breath and letting her legs fall flat against the bed in a more comfortable position now that the midwife has left for now, as Hashirama laughs nervously.

"It's uh, it's normal for labour to last up to sixteen hours or so," she offers with a shaky grin and Madara glares harder.

" _Sixteen hours_?" she repeats, and Hashirama huffs out another nervous laugh.

"One of my cousins was actually in labour for three days with her first child," she says and winces as Madara's nails dig deeply into her hand.

"Hashirama," she says, voice falsely sweet, and the Senju gulps, "If this labour lasts more than sixteen hours, I am never going to have sex with you ever again, understood?" Hashirama nods.

"Understood."

It is thirteen hours, a few visits from her brother, and one instance of the Uchiha and Senju Clan Elders having a face off on the front porch before trying to get into the bedroom, before the midwife declares her to be good to start pushing as soon as the baby descends into her pelvis. Madara forces out a shaky breath, waiting a minute for the next contraction to pass, her hand shaking as it grips Hashirama's ever tighter. The midwife is poking around inside of Madara now, checking to make sure that she is properly opened enough, there is an odd sensation, and Madara's face drains of colour.

"Bucket," the midwife snaps to the side at her assistant, who is quick to grab the item, and bring it up just in time for Madara to vomit violently into it, hacking and coughing as Hashirama holds her hair out of the way. The assistant has barely put the bucket down when the midwife is snapping at her again, "Towels now, and warm water, hurry up girl!" the assistant scurries to fetch the items as Madara mutters threats under her breath directed towards the Senju at her side. Hashirama ignores the steadily growing more creative threats coming from the Uchiha, smoothing hair away from her face, and pressing gentle kisses against it, murmuring soft words to her as the midwife uses a warm washcloth to wipe away the bloody discharge from between Madara's thighs. Madara hisses in a breath as a particularily long-lasting contraction hits, and growls out threats at the Senju once it has passed, counting the scant minutes in between her contractions now. They only get worse, getting closer and closer together, lasting for longer and longer, and Hashirama looks down at the hand that Madara is gripping tightly and knows that she's going to have a few broken bones to heal once all of this is over.

"Alright now, she seems to be fully dilated, or at least as dilated as she's going to get," Madara can idly hear the midwife saying, feeling as she wipes at the trickles of blood she can feel staining the sheets beneath her, before the woman is speaking directly at her and the Uchiha looks up, panting lightly, "You're going to need to start pushing with the contractions. It's going to be even more painful, I'm afraid, but the baby's already descended, and the sooner it's out, the better for both of you. Remember to breathe; two quick breaths in, and one out slow," the woman reminds her, and Madara opens her mouth to say something insulting, but the next contraction hits then, and she has to bite through her lip, tasting copper, as the midwife and Hashirama encourage her to push.

It is such an odd thing, Madara feels herself think idly, as she bears down as much as she is able to, following instructions and giving into the instinctive urge to do so as well. The midwife wets another cloth, wiping the area between her thighs clean again, and frowning at it.

"She's already bleeding too much," the woman murmurs worriedly, and Hashirama bites her own lip, looking at the woman, and moving her free hand from Madara's forehead down to press it against her, green chakra swirling around, and the Senju frowns deeply.

"She's tearing," the brunette says quietly, concentrating on closing the torn capillaries and blood vessels, knitting skin back together as best as she can when the pressure of Madara pushing through another contraction just tears it all open again. The midwife looks grim. Hashirama moves her hand away from the opening to rest it gently on top of Madara's swollen stomach instead, still trying her best to keep the Uchiha from bleeding too much. Madara lets out a pained whine as she bears down with the next contraction, and then she is gasping, letting out a strangled moan of pain as she _feels_ something inside of her tear, and then all she can smell is blood, feeling it flowing steadily from between her legs as the midwife and Hashirama snap at each other, both now leaning between her legs.

"She's losing too much blood-"

"At this rate neither will-"

Madara can hear them talking, but she can't seem to focus on the words, as she carefully breathes through the next round of contractions, pushing with them, feeling dizzy and lightheaded as she loses more and more blood. It is easier to push now though, and she can feel the baby from her womb falling lower and lower in her body with each contraction that passes. The midwife and Hashirama are still arguing in low voices, and she can feel Hashirama's chakra swirling around inside of her, repairing the damage being done to her body as best as it can while she is still being torn open from the inside out. Madara wonders how much blood she has already lost to be thinking about this so calmly.

And then, she can faintly hear herself whimper as something else, skin this time, tears, as the midwife speaks louder; "Her perineum tore. The baby's starting to crown now," and Madara knows that she is almost done. She can hear Hashirama whispering in her ear again, pressing kisses all over her sweaty face as she pants, eyes a glazed over dull red, and face far too pale.

"You're doing so good, Madara, that's it, you're almost done, your baby's almost out now, we can see her head," the Senju is murmuring, gently picking up one of the Uchiha's clenched fists and unclenching it, guiding her hand in between her legs to touch something wet and odd feeling, "That's her head, Madara, that's your baby. Our baby," Hashirama says quietly, and kisses away the tears that trickle down Madara's face as she gasps out and moans through another contraction.

"She's crowning," the midwife declares, her hands pushing Madara's legs apart more, wiping away blood with a wet towel, and gently doing all that she can in order to help smooth out the birthing process.

"That's it, Madara," Hashirama's voice is back against her hear, soothing and calm, but with an undertone of serious worry in it that makes Madara wish she was able to talk right now, to reassure the Senju that everything would be fine, but she can barely breathe, let alone speak, as she bears down again, gritting her teeth as she feels herself stretch and stretch and tear again as she feels something almost pop out of her, and she falls back against the pillows, panting heavily.

"Her head is out now," the midwife says, and Madara's eyes slip shut as she gasps for air, "Don't stop now, only a bit more and then you can be done," the older woman snaps at her, and Madara summons up the last of her strength, it has been such a long time, she can't even remember how long ago this mess began, and pushes once, twice, three times more, and the child she has been carrying around with her since August is finally out. The room fills with wailing and Madara's ears are ringing as she collapses back, eyes fluttering closed as she tries desperately to breathe. The midwife and Hashirama are talking to each other and to her, but she can't hear anything but the sound of the baby, her baby, crying, can barely feel the push of Hashirama's chakra inside of her as her womb contracts once more, and she hears the midwife saying something about the "placenta" and "too much blood" before she fades out.

She is back mere minutes later with a jolt, staring down at Hashirama's fearful brown eyes, one hand inside of her, chakra repairing the tears and stopping the loss of blood, as her other hand rests on Madara's face, chakra swirling through her head to keep her conscious.

"You can't sleep yet, Madara, not now, not before you meet our baby, and not before this bleeding is stopped," Hashirama is saying quickly, and the look on her face is so reminiscent of how she had looked only last January (Just over a year ago, she realizes. Has it really only been that long?), that is makes Madara blink, before she raises her face, and is met with the sight of the midwife, holding a small, very small, bundle of blankets, some stained with blood.

"The umbilical cord still needs to be cut, Hashirama-sama," the woman says gently.

"I still have bleeding to staunch, leave it for now," she snaps, and Madara can feel the Senju's chakra grow agitated for a second, before the brunette grits her teeth and goes back to work, now kneeling in between Madara's legs and muttering to herself as sweat drips off her brow. Madara is still lightheaded, and knows that she has lost more blood than is good for her, but for now, all of her attention is focused on that bundle of blankets, and carefully, she stretches her arms out for it wordlessly. The midwife takes a step closer, and gently lowers the bundle into Madara's arms, and the Uchiha can feel tears drip out of now red eyes as she stares down at the quietly sniffling, red-faced child. Her Sharingan is quick to memorize the features of her child's face, and Madara can do nothing but stare at the tiny human being she had _made_.

"You should feed your daughter, Madara-sama," the midwife says gently, stepping forwards again and helping the Uchiha to open the stained robe enough to bare her breasts, correctly positioning her arms in order to bring the baby's face up to one of them. The infant makes a few sniffling sounds, smacking toothless gums together briefly, before latching onto a nipple and beginning to feed. Madara is too busy watching the baby, her daughter, to listen to anything Hashirama and the midwife are saying. Her eyes are heavy though, and it takes all of her strength to keep holding the small child in her arms. She feels herself smile softly down at her. Her daughter. Her beloved, precious daughter, that she would stop at nothing to keep safe now. Carefully, she trails a shaking finger down her face as she pulls away from her breast, coughing a little, before yawning and settling down.

"Satomi," she murmurs the name her own mother had borne, as her eyes close, "Satomi Uchiha."

She says no more.

 

The silence of the night is broken by the sound of an infant beginning to cry, and Madara stuffs her head underneath her pillow with a groan, before rolling onto her side, and gently scooping up the two-month old Satomi, pulling the wailing baby closer, gently checking to see what the child is in need of.

“She's wet,” she says, looking at Hashirama, who is blinking sleepy eyes at the two of them, “It's your turn to get up and change her,” the Uchiha says, even as she sits up in bed, gently bouncing her small daughter in her arms. Hashirama stretches and yawns, before obediently getting up, taking the still wailing infant from Madara, and going over to the small table at the side of the room with clean cloths. Satomi quiets down to mere sniffles as she is changed, and by the time Hashirama carries her back over to the bed, Madara has curled up again, eyes half-closed as Hashirama sets their daughter down gently in between them. Madara watches her daughter's small face scrunch up again, and before she can begin to cry once more, the Uchiha has sighed, opened the loose robe she has taken to sleeping in, and brought the baby up to her chest to nurse. Hashirama smiles down at the both of them, and leans in to press a soft kiss against Madara's mouth.

“I love you,” the Senju murmurs quietly, and Madara's lips twitch up in a barely noticeable smile.

“I know,” she replies, and lets Hashirama pull her close, running a hand over the downy black hair that covers their daughter's head. Hashirama leans over Madara's shoulder in order to press a soft kiss against Satomi's head.

“I love you too,” she murmurs, and holds both of them closer to her, closing her own eyes as she smiles. All is silent again for a few moments, before Madara speaks.

“I've decided,” she says quietly, and Hashirama opens her eyes again.

“Decided what?” she asks curiously.

“You get to be kaa-san, I'll be haha-ue,” the Uchiha mutters, half-asleep by now. Hashirama blinks, before grinning widely, and moving around to tilt Madara's head up enough for her to kiss the smaller woman again. Satomi gurgles happily from her mother's arms as Madara rolls her eyes, but her lips are quirked up in a small smile.

“Oh go to sleep already Senju,” she mutters, and Hashirama is still grinning like a loon as she wraps her arms around her partner and daughter, tugging the blanket over the three of them as they all settle back in to sleep.

 

(Three years later, when Madara wakes up sick four days in a row, she punches Hashirama after the Senju confirms her suspicions, before telling Satomi that she's going to be a big sister. The toddler is ecstatic and makes grand plans about how much fun she is going to have with her little sister. She gets twin brothers instead.)

 

**Finished 06/06/2015**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over???? Like??? This fic was my life for twenty-two days. And now it's done. I think I'm gonna cry.  
> [there's an alternate ending thingy here (it deviates from the end of Part V), if anyone's interested](http://thefairyprincev.tumblr.com/post/121376613488/the-final-part-of-complications-will-be-up)  
> I want to give a huge thanks to all who have read this fic, and an even bigger thanks to those who have left comments and kudos <33 You're all awesome and I seriously love all of you.  
> Now I just have to figure out what to write next-  
>  ~~Anyone have anything they want to see? Just drop me a line on tumblr because I will happily take prompts, or requests, or anything really ;)~~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Be as we are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225558) by [Quiet fox (Poots)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poots/pseuds/Quiet%20fox)




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